


Reform

by WrenAndPoppy



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Post Trespasser, Slow Burn, Tevinter Imperium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 59,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrenAndPoppy/pseuds/WrenAndPoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dorian finds Fenris for sale at a slave auction, he can’t just sit back and watch him be sold.  But intervening will mean purchasing him, and if Dorian lets Fenris go, or fails to treat him how a Magister ought to treat a slave… all of the political progress that he has worked so hard to achieve will be at risk.</p><p>At least he took his antidotes, because the wine at this party is definitely poisoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wedge Issue

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle in for a long fic! We have done as much research as possible to keep things close to canon, this takes place about a year after the Exalted Council.

_“In the years to come, some would call him butcher and an extremist.  Others would call him the grandest reformer the Imperium ever saw.  But the great historians, the ones who did their research, could always agree on a few things.  He was a man of uncrushable faith in his homeland, unshakable determination to change the world, and absolute ruthlessness in his tactics.”_

\- Prologue to  _Reform,_ a story by Viscount Varric Tethras, 9:46 Dragon

 

 

Dusk in the Tevinter Imperium was a humid affair.  The days sweltered and the nights nipped with cold like an untamed dog – though they didn’t snap with the frostbite savagery of nights in Southern Thedas – but for a brief moment as the sun dipped towards the horizon, Tevinter became balmy.  The sky would pass through a spectrum of buttery yellows and dark reds, casting the buildings into harsh, spiked black silhouettes that stabbed into the sky and made her surface bleed with streaks of ruby clouds.

How very  _Tevinter_ that was, Dorian mused, standing before the harsh stonework of a towering estate and staring up at the cut of the stone.  He watched as a low flying cloud, pregnant with rain, was impaled by the pointed steeple-knife of Magister Aurelian Titus’s roof.  Dorian’s people had built castles to cut at the very sky.

His hand ached to clutch at his uneasy stomach, but Dorian pushed the urge aside.  It wouldn’t do to show weakness.  If the Tevinter elite coveted the unconquered expanse of the sky, a freshly-made Magister with questionable politics and an upset stomach would be easy prey.  He held his breath and crossed the marble steps that led through the open front gates, stepping past the guards and into the party.

Hundreds of shoes  _clicked_ against immaculately polished marble floors, the sound echoing through the foyer like the chiming of evening insects outside, flowing like a rush of water beneath the cacophony of voices.  Dorian strode past gilded windows and lavish tapestries and enough gold leaf to coat a small Ferelden town, but none of it drew his eyes.  Those were just the colors his home was painted in.  Dorian knew that for all the velvet and gold, this soirée was more battlefield than mansion.  Words and eyes clashed all around him as the Tevinter elite dueled to the death with pleasantries.  Sometimes, in moments like this, Dorian swore he could feel a spray of blood as he passed a loser.

He could definitely feel swords being pointed his way.

The latest fashion – a tall boot with heels cast in metal – forced Dorian to add to the symphony of clicks against the marble floor.  It showed off his legs something fierce whenever his robes swished the right way, but Dorian didn’t like being a few inches taller.  It made him feel like an easier target.  Then again, if he had wanted to keep a low profile, he shouldn’t have decided to join the Magisterium with the express intent of changing everything about it.

“Dorian Pavus!”

Dorian turned, heels clicking and robes swishing.  A tall man in gold and black robes was striding towards him, cutting through the crowd like a shark, extending a smile.  Dorian’s face broke into a matching grin at the sight of the man.

“People keep telling me that my title is now  _Magister_ Pavus,” Dorian joked, dipping into a respectful bow.

The man laughed, swirling a glass of wine as dark as his robes, but not half as dark as his eyes.  The streaks of silver in his golden hair caught the candlelight.  “ _Magister_ Pavus, yes, how could I forget?  There are so many fresh faces in the Magisterium of late.”  

Dorian struggled to keep his smile intact.  Magister Aurelian Titus, elected to the Magisterium by the Circle of Minrathous and proud owner of nearly sixty personal slaves, was probably one of Dorian’s least favorite living beings in Thedas.  The list had grown aggressively since he returned to the Imperium.

“Do not let me keep you from the festivities.”  Magister Aurelian took a sip of his wine, his dark eyes watching Dorian over the rim.  “It’s going to be such a lovely affair.  I do hope you  _relish_ the entertainment.”

The man’s tone made Dorian’s pulse skip uneasily.  His grin didn’t flicker.

“That makes two of us.  I do love a good relish.”

“And Magister Pavus?”

“Yes?”

“Do try the wine.”

Dorian tried to not let his jaw twitch.  “Goodness, the wine is half the reason I came here.”

Aurelian chuckled and brushed past Dorian, melting into the crowd with long strides.  Dorian kept his mask of elite indifference in place and continued to wander through the party, trying not to wonder what  _entertainment_ Aurelian had planned.

Slaves wandered the grand gilded room, mostly humans, demurely dressed and offering trays of refreshments to the partygoers.  Dorian let his gaze skip over them as if they were air.  It was getting easier, he realized.  The longer he stayed here, the longer he danced this dance, the more he slipped into the role of Magister.  The fake smiles and elitist sneers came to his face almost automatically.

He missed the rough, honest smirk he used to wear in the Inquisition.  But when a man had radical political goals in the Imperium, there was no place for an honest smirk.

A slave approached him with a try of gilded goblets set with rubies.  Dorian delicately lifted one off the tray as he passed, as dismissively as if the slave was no more than a table.  Without breaking his stride, he stared down into the crimson depths of the –  _definitely_ poison-laced – wine.  His stomach churned miserably, but stomachs tended to do that when they were filled with fourteen different poison antidotes.  Dorian took a sip of the wine, letting the sweet, leathery tang of it swish around his mouth before swallowing.  Exquisite.  He wondered if the poison was responsible for that lovely sweetness at the end.

Inside the mansion, the humidity was beginning to congeal, a sickly miasma of perfume and wine and sticky Tevinter weather.  The thought of evening air beckoned, and Dorian turned his gilded footsteps towards the archways leading to the gardens.

The courtyard did not offer respite from the throng of party guests, but at least there was a breeze.  The neatly-trimmed grass and fine marble pathways were clogged with richly-dressed members of the Magisterium, as well as a few Altus and visiting nobilities.  Dorian wandered through the crowd, taking a deep breath of fresh air, tasting the first hint of night time chill.  If Maevaris had been there, she might have smiled at Dorian and offered him a glass of the thick, dark red wine that she favoured, silently telling him that the party would end – all things ended.  She had proven this with her death.

Dorian sighed into his glass.  Sweet with poison, not with Maevaris’s preferred vintage.

He could feel eyes and faces following him as he strode through the gardens, turning like sunflowers towards sunlight.  Not from adoration, never that, not for Magister Pavus.  Vipers hid behind those flowers, waiting with eagerly flicking tongues for him to  _crack._

There was a throng gathered in a corner of the garden.  Dorian pursed his eyebrows curiously, turning his clicking steps towards them.  He filtered casually through the crowd to find the source of the commotion.  When he finally saw, the carefully chiseled smile on his face nearly cracked.

In a neat row on a platform stood five people.  Three were humans, two women and a man, and the last two were elven men, all young and lean and immaculate.  Each wore minimal clothes of crispest white, exposing the lean lines of their bodies to the night air and the partygoers’ eyes.  They all looked in peak physical condition, muscles oiled, not a bruise in sight.  The manacles around their necks and wrists sparkled gold in the light of the setting sun, tethering them to the floor with chains barely long enough to let them stand up straight.

_A slave auction._ The words almost spilled from Dorian’s lips, and only his upbringing in the Game kept his tongue still.  This was why Magister Aurelian had been so eager to see Dorian  _relish_ the entertainment.  Dorian’s stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with all the antidotes this time.

This was a personal slight against him.  There could be no mistake.  Dorian’s anti-slave stance was the second-worst-kept secret of the Magisterium, right after “everyone and their mother does blood magic.”  This was a test, or maybe it was meant to provoke him.  Either way, five living people were chained to a block and about to be sold because of  _him._

“There are  _so_ many new faces in the Magisterium,” Magister Auralian commented just behind Dorian, nearly making him leap out of his skin.  “I thought it would be gracious to welcome them in with something special.”

The urge to cast a ball of fire at the man nearly exploded from Dorian’s fingertips, but he disciplined his face into something that he desperately hoped looked like a smile and not a snarl.  “How thoughtful of you.”

“Oh Dorian, you know how I am about tradition.”  Magister Aurelian sipped his wine, his dark eyes wandering over the slaves.  “It warms my heart to share the finer tastes of life as a Magister with our newcomers.  Goodness, I do suppose that includes you now, doesn’t it?   _Magister_  Pavus, I promise I will get used to that title someday.”

_I’ve been in the Magisterium for over a year,_ Dorian nearly spat.  A frustrating, teeth-grinding year of trying to create meaningful change in a culture that erected knives of jealous stone to stab at the sky.  

“Two elves in this batch.”  Aurelian was talking again, an annoying honeyed drone in Dorian’s ear.  “We’re quite lucky.  Elven slaves have been so difficult to come across of late.  It pains me.  Humans do well enough, but I have that thing about  _tradition._ ”

“The glory of the Imperium is not lost,” Dorian ground out, speaking to himself as much as the Magister.  He kept his eyes fixed on the slaves while trying not to see them.  “Our true values  _will_ be restored.”

“So good to hear you say that, Magister Pavus.”  Aurelian’s hand clapped affectionately on Dorian’s bare shoulder, and he tried not to bristle.  “I must go, Magister Vitus is side-eyeing me something dreadful.  I encourage you to admire the merchandise more closely.  They’re the finest stock.”

_I could send enough lightning through your spine to make you head explode,_ Dorian told himself.  The thought let him smile genuinely at the Magister.

“I’m sure they are.”

It was a relief to see the Magister’s black and gold robes swished away into the crowd as he prowled away.  Dorian let out a heavy breath and turned his eyes back to the slaves.  Occasionally, one of the guests would mount the stairs to the auction block and give the slaves a closer inspection, or just a fondle.  Part of Dorian fiercely wanted to purchase all of five, just so he could send them on the fastest ships back to whatever land they called home.  But doing that would beggar him, if he even had the coin for it in all his coffers, and then where would his political agenda be?

The sight of those chains shining in the light was making him sick.  Dorian was about to turn away from the auction when a man stepped next to him.  Dorian didn’t know the man personally, but recognized him by sight: a new Magister appointed by the Archon himself, Magister Mareno… or was it Silus?   _Shit._ Dorian gave the man a polite smile and hoped that names didn’t come up.

“Good to see you could make it, Magister Pavus!” the man greeted, a goblet of wine in his hand and a drink-flushed smile on his face.

Dorian quickly returned the polite smile.  “Wouldn’t miss it.  Magister Aurelian always serves the best vintage.  Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Of course! A wonderful night. Are you going to bid on any of the prizes?”

Dorian forced his gaze back to the auction block.   _Those “prizes” all had homes they were torn away from,_ he thought bitterly.  A dark thought slunk through the back of his mind, wondering what kind of man he might be if he had not gone to the Inquisition, wondering if he might be the kind of man who would see each person on stage as a  _prize._   The woman on the far left looked like she might be Rivaini.  He wondered if that was the home she had been stolen from.  The first elf, fair skinned and golden haired, was probably snatched from a Dalish clan, if the markings on his face were anything to go by.  The second elf…

Dorian frowned, noticing the slave in the middle for the first time.  The man’s hair was snow-white, his dark skin crossed with shimmering silver lines, his face stone.  Those were not normal elven tattoos, Dorian could tell immediately.  Something itched in the back of Dorian’s mind, a sensation that he should be remembering something important.

“That one in the middle will be popular, I believe.”  Magister Silus-or-possibly-Mareno was speaking again, buzzing words distracting Dorian from his threads of thought.  “Branded with real lyrium, I hear.  A treat for any mage to have around.  It’s rare to find a slave like that, and he’s an elf at that.  No one has truly perfected the lyrium branding technique since Danarius.”

“Danarius… ”  The word rang in Dorian’s head.  He lifted his goblet in a friendly gesture to the other Magister, suddenly interested.  “You seem rather knowledgeable on the subject.  Would you care to share?”

“Such a loss of talent,” Magister Silus-or-possibly-Mareno sighed.  “I never met the man, but I hear he was a genius with his experiments.  He had a personal slave, oh, what was his name… a slave that he kept with him at all times, the first slave to receive lyruim markings like this.  A shame, but his own creation ended up slaying him.  So much lost research.”

Dorian eyed the slave with a new intensity, watching the elf glare down at the crowd as if wishing he could spit on them.   _Something_ was pressing at the back of Dorian’s mind.  Something important.

“Fenris.”  Magister Silus-or-possibly-Mareno snapped his fingers triumphantly.  “That was the slave’s name.”

A sudden memory of velvet against his back and a book in his hand and the breeze of Skyhold wafting through a window flashed through Dorian’s mind.  He’d seen the name  _Fenris_  before, next to words like  _Danarius_ and  _lyrium branding_ and  _ex-slave_ and  _Kirkwall,_ written in one of Varric’s books.

… Was this the Fenris from  _Tales of the Champion_?  The same one who had battled through Kirkwall with Hawke and Varric back in the day?

Dorian set his empty wine goblet down on a nearby table and gave Magister Silus-or-possibly-Mareno a knowing smile.  “I do believe I’m going to take a closer look at this mage-treat.”

The Magister chuckled.  “I don’t blame you.”

Dorian quickly strode away so he wouldn’t punch the man in the face in full view of Tevinter’s elite.

The auction block was wood, finely carved.  Dorian’s gilded shoes made a  _thud_ with each step he ascended.  The boards creaked as he strode behind the chained slaves towards the one in the middle.  The elf’s white hair was shaved on the sides of his head, flaunting his pointed ears with their golden studs.  He didn’t turn to look as Dorian approached, his green eyes sternly facing ahead, but Dorian could see his lip curl.  

He stepped close behind the man, nearly breathing on his neck.  Were it not for Dorian’s shoes, the elf would have been slightly taller than him.  As it was, his lips were just about level with that pointed, gold-studded ear.

“Pretend I’m groping you,” Dorian said through his teeth.

The elf stiffened.  “ _What_?” he hissed back.  The discomfort in his body was close enough to what Dorian was aiming for.

Dorian adjusted his robes to hide his hands, miming a crude stroke of the displayed muscles, the dark skin, the blindingly-white lines of lyrium.  “How’s your Wicked Grace game?” he murmured.

“You intend to play cards with your slaves, Magister?” the elf spat under his breath.

“I don’t  _intend_  to have slaves.  But if you are who I think you are, the answer to the question is ‘terrible’ and ‘I owe a certain dwarf a lot of money.’”

The elf turned his head slightly, his green eyes piercing Dorian over his shoulder.

“Who  _are_  you?”

“Who are  _you?”_  Dorian countered.

“The Auction will begin presently!” 

Magister Aurelian’s voice boomed across the courtyard.  Dorian slipped away from the elf, stepping down into the crowd.  He could feel green eyes following him.

He knew he couldn’t purchase all five slaves.  That had been an angry fantasy.  But just one…?  His stomach twisted as he gave the thought serious consideration.  He could not allow a friend of Varric’s to be sold into unwilling servitude on his watch, but to intervene would mean bidding on someone’s life.  Even if it was for the right cause, that wasn’t something he could ever take back.  

An auctioneer strode across the block, her shoes thumping on the boards.  “We will begin with the subject on my left,” she announced with a saccharine grin.  “A Rivaini girl who has been trained in dancing, cleaning, and the sexual arts… ”

Dorian felt his jaw twitch, but kept his mask of feigned interest as the Auctioneer reeled off the talents of her first victim.  A soft scent of honey and ash wafted past him, and for the second time that night Dorian nearly leaped out of his shoes as he realized Magister Aurelian was looming beside him.

“Will you be bidding this evening?” Aurelian asked mildly, swirling his wine.

Trying to keep his racing pulse in check, Dorian managed a snort of a laugh.  “This is an auction, is it not?”

A burst of fire shot into the air from somewhere in the crowd: the first bid.  Dorian’s heart thumped.

“Oh Dorian, I’m so pleased to hear that.”  Magister Aurelian raised one long-fingered hand and shot a tongue of flame into the air, placing his own bid on the Rivaini girl.  “Do you have your eyes on one of them?”

_My title is Magister Pavus,_ Dorian corrected in his mind, grinding out the hated title slowly.  For Aurelian’s benefit, he tapped his chin in consideration.  “The elf, I think.  The one with the lyrium markings.”

“ _Ah,_  a man with finer tastes.  I hear he is quite the handful though.  He nearly killed the slaver who brought him in.”  Magister Aurelian’s dark eyes fixed on Dorian over the rim of his goblet.  “Are you certain you have the firm hand required to keep him in line?”

Dorian ground his teeth and smiled.  “I’m sure I can wrangle him.”

Magister Aurelian let out a delighted laugh, placing another bid and casting his features into a warm yellow glow. “There are plenty of other male slaves suited to your  _desires_ , Magister Pavus.  Perhaps you should bid on a gentler toy.”

Anger made sparks fly from Dorian’s fingertips, and he quickly raised his arm as if placing a bid.  The Auctioneer nodded at him in answer, and Dorian felt a curl of nausea sweep through his stomach.  There it was, his first bid at a slave auction.  No turning back now.

“I don’t shy away from difficulty,” he ground out, not meeting Aurelian’s eyes.  “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Oh, I am sure you can,” Aurelian echoed sweetly.  “Have you tasted the wine?”

“Of course.  The best vintage, as always.”

Three slaves were auctioned and sold before the elf was finally dragged forwards.  His steps were slow and deliberate, not a hint of defeat in his seething eyes as two armored guards guided him forward by his chains.  In the dimming light, Dorian could see the faint shimmer of runes on the shackles and the collar around his neck.  Varric’s book had made mention of the abilities Fenris had, the powers his lyrium brands gave him.  Magical shackles must be a necessity.  The look in his eyes certainly indicated that he’d be killing everyone in sight if he was able.

The bidding began, and Dorian blanched as the first few bids sent the price soaring.  Many people, it seemed, were eager to own one of the rare lyrium-tattooed slaves.

Dorian conjured a wisp of veilfire each time the bidding slowed, wondering just _how_  much it was going to cost him to free a slave that might not even be Varric’s friend. His conscience was shouting, though, and he would be damned if he let money stand in the way of the small shred of humanity he had left.

Finally, only two hands were shooting tongues of flame into the dusky air.  Dorian clenched his jaw as Aurelian followed up each bid with a bid of his own.

“First you invite me to the auction and now this,” Dorian joked, trying to keep his tone light and not murderous.  “What have I done to deserve such a battle?”

“My dear Dorian, I’m simply looking out for you.  Are you quite sure you can handle him?”

“That’s  _Magister Pavus._ ”  Dorian gave the man a vicious smile, and for the first time that night, he didn’t have to fake it.  “And I am  _quite_ sure.”

“Very well then.”  Aurelian sent up a booming tower of sparks that brought silence over the auction.  “Twice the going offer,” he called, sending amazed whispers through the crowd.  More quietly, he added to Dorian, “I give him to you as a gift, Magister Pavus.  I do hope he serves you well.  Your first slave, am I right?”

Dorian cursed internally.  “An incredibly generous offer,” he bit out.

“Well, we’re all extremely glad to see you taking part in the traditions of our homeland, dear boy. Your father would be proud.”

The antidotes were souring in his stomach and his smile was about to crack on his face and Dorian wanted more than  _anything_  to leave this blighted party.  “Thoughtful of you to say so, Magister.”

“Sold,” the Auctioneer called, “to Magister Aurelian!”

The crowd whispered in awe as the elf was led down the steps.  Aurelian placed a strong hand on Dorian’s arm, guiding him forward through the crowd.  He smiled at the congratulations, but his grip was rigid, not giving Dorian a choice but to follow.

“A fine selection, Magister!” a woman called.  “The rest of us seethe with jealousy.”

Aurelian laughed.  “Oh, he’s not for me,” he replied, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.  “I’m gifting him to Magister Pavus, as thanks for joining us tonight!”

Dorian managed to smile and wave as he was pulled forward.  He caught a glimpse of the auction stage ahead, of the tense set of the elf’s shoulders.

“Then Magister Pavus is the one we should be jealous of!”

It felt surreal.  Dorian didn’t quite register that he was at the auction block until he felt a chain being pressed into his hand.  His eyes followed the chain up to the elf’s shackled wrists, then further up the chain to the collar around his neck.  The elf glared back at him with a mixture of fear and hate.

“I apologize for the disrespect,” Magister Aurelian was murmuring, “but I need to insist that you leave his shackles on until you leave the premises.  He’s quite dangerous without them.  Slaver Almandrius is no pushover, but he was so badly wounded capturing this elf that he could not attend this evening.”

Dorian forced a smile.  The chains felt cold and sickening in his hand.  “That’s quite all right, I think I’ll take him home immediately.”

“Dorian, I wouldn’t hear of it!  You’ve only just arrived!”  Aurelian gave Dorian’s shoulder a friendly squeeze that made him want to scream.  “Stay a little longer, enjoy the party!”

Dorian’s gaze flicked back to the elf.  He steeled himself for what he was about to say and forced a cocky grin onto his face as he leaned close to Aurelian.

“Perhaps I can borrow a guest chamber then?  I didn’t want to be crude, but… ”

Aurelian’s knowing smile hit Dorian like a fist to the gut.  “Oh, impatient, are we?”

The elf stiffened, his eyes widening as they darted to Dorian.  Dorian could hear his breath, tense and tight, see his fists clenching in his manacles.

“Take the northern wing, my dear Magister Pavus.  You’ve earned it.”

Dorian barely managed a nod before turning away, hoping that his queasiness didn’t show on his face.  He gave a tug on the chain, and the elf dug his heels in with a frightened hitch of breath.  For one terrible moment, Dorian was afraid that he would need to issue some manner of discipline, here, now, on a man that shouldn’t be in chains.

The elf’s eyes darted around the crowd, his jaw clenching with helpless fury.  He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze, taking a defeated step closer.  Dorian couldn’t find it in himself to be relieved as he led his new slave through the crowd as quickly as he could, trying not to make eye contact with a single living being.

It felt like an eon before he reached the doors of the northern guest wing.

Without speaking a word, Dorian dragged the elf into the first room he could find and locked the door.  He tossed the chains onto the ground in a jingling pile, finally letting the sickening mask of pleasantness fall from his face.  Scowling had never felt so good in his life.

The elf’s chest was heaving, every muscle on his body tense.  “Th-these shackles do not make me helpless,” he spat, his voice trembling.  “I promise you, I will  _not_ make this fun for you.”

“I have no intention of laying a hand on you,” Dorian promised, crossing his arms.  “And keep your voice down, or groan if you’re going to be loud.  I have a cover to keep up.”

The elf wrinkled his nose in a snarl.  “Make your own groans,  _Magister_.”

“Is your name Fenris?”

The snarl faded.  The elf straightened up, leveling a cool glare at Dorian.  “So you’ve read  _Tales of the Champion._ Yes, I’m that elf who can kill a fully armored man with my bare hands.  Am I a collector’s prize to you?”

“Hardly.”  Dorian looked the elf over.  “I know Varric.”

Fenris snorted a laugh.  “And I’ll be the next Archon.  Varric doesn’t make friends with slave-owners.”

“And I don’t own slaves.” Dorian said flatly.

Fenris’s laugh was louder and harsher.  “You just  _purchased_ me!”

Dorian pressed his hand against his face and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh.  His whole body was tense and jumpy from this awful evening, and he had no patience left.  “Sadly, no.  It would be easier if I had.  The  _illustrious_ Magister Aurelian is the one who purchased you, and since you’re a gift I can’t quietly set you free as planned.  That would be  _spurning a favor_ , and my footing is shaky enough as it is.”

“I weep for you,” Fenris drawled.

Dorian lowered his hand to glare at the slave.  “I’m afraid I don’t have the time to convince you right now.  If you choose to believe it, here are the facts: I won’t be abusing you, I  _hate_ slavery, and I’ll be setting you free as soon as I can.”

“Do.  Not.   _Lie._ ”  Fenris strode forward until his face was inches from Dorian’s.  “I stood on an auction block in chains and you offered money for me.  Don’t pretend you’re not like the rest of them.”

Dorian met Fenris’ gaze without flinching.  “We are going back to the party,” he bit out.  “I am going to pretend that this entire affair doesn’t make my skin crawl, and you are going to keep your mouth shut.”  He hated himself for the fact that his hand shot to the chain that dangled from Fenris’s collar, yanking the man close.  “Do you understand?”

Fenris’s lip curled, his teeth bared.  “Yes,  _Master,_ ” he snarled.

The word hurt worse than a knife would have.  Dorian braced himself and dragged Fenris towards the doors, back to the sickening choke of the party.

 


	2. Gauche Caviar

By the time Dorian had wrenched himself free from the talons of Magister Aurelian’s hospitality, the sky had darkened to a cloudy black slate. He strode down the marble steps to the gate, letting out a sigh of relief as the weight of a hundred eyes finally lifted from his shoulders. The night air nipped at his bare arms, but he dared not let a shiver pass through him. The chain in his hand felt all the colder, and he knew that the elf trailing at the end of it must be feeling the temperature, too, his bare chest covered in goose bumps.  

Fenris shivered, glaring as his chains tinkled along in a mocking melody.

One of Aurelian’s slaves was quick to greet Dorian as he stepped outside the gate.  The man was young, brown-haired, dressed in simple whites.  “Magister Pavus, your mount is being brought from the stables.”

Dorian cursed under his breath.  The slave flinched, and Dorian didn’t have it in himself to keep his voice hard.  “It’s quite all right,” he sighed.  “Thank you.”

A scornful snort from Fenris made Dorian bristle again, but thankfully the slave had already scampered away by then.  Dorian let out a long breath and looked out over the green expanse of Magister Aurelian’s grounds, broken by twisted olive trees, shadowed by dusk.  Beyond the expansive property, the towers of Minrathous cut sharp silhouettes against the sky.  The night air was soft, the surroundings peaceful and quiet, the party no more than a distant hum behind him.  Dorian wished it soothed him.

He wondered what the Inquisitor would have done in a situation like this.  _Likely, never have gotten herself into it.  Or if she did, she’d punch someone and start a new war rather than do what I’m about to._

The soft  _clop clop_ of hooves on a mosaic walkway made Dorian tense again.  He turned as his horse was led towards them through the grounds, tall and proud and shimmering ash-grey in the moonlight.  The tackle was all dark leather and silvered fastenings, and as the horse saw Dorian, he let out a snort of greeting.

Dorian stepped forward, trailing Fenris behind, and took the reins from the slave.  He bumped his nose against his horse’s face and murmured, “I hope you had a better evening than I did, Frostback.”

Frostback snorted again.

“Magister Pavus, do you need assistance mounting?”

Dorian closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh, still leaning his head against Frostback’s face.  Without responding, he lifted his foot to the stirrup and mounted into the saddle with the ease of practice.  He shifted Fenris’ chain so he held it with the reins.  When he glanced down, the elf was staring up at him in disbelief.

“Not needed,” he told Aurelian’s slave crisply.  You could never tell a slave from a spy, and it was never wise to break character.  With those words ringing in his head, Dorian clicked softly under his breath, and Frostback began to stride away from the gate.  

Fenris’ chain nearly went taut before he jogged to catch up.  The glow of night time in Minrathous wasn’t far away, but it felt like an age of slow  _clip clop clip clop_ with Fenris struggling to keep up.  It wasn’t until they were out of earshot of the guards at the gate that Fenris spoke under his breath.

“You’re disgusting.”

Dorian bit his tongue hard.  Not even the familiar rocking motion of Frostback’s smooth gait underneath him was making this okay.  The decent thing, his heart screamed, was always to offer your saddle to a guest, or at least offer to share it.  But Fenris was no  _guest,_ as far as a Magister or a Magister’s spy was concerned.  If Aurelian found out that Dorian was sharing a horse with his slave, it would turn into a scandal and he wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks. Dorian couldn’t afford that when he had a bill going to the floor of the Magisterium soon.

_Wear the mask,_ Dorian reminded himself, keeping his eyes focused ahead so he wouldn’t have to see the collar around Fenris’ neck, forcing him to follow the horse or be yanked off his feet.   _Wear the mask so you can infiltrate and change._

The city soon swallowed them, the quiet of the Magister’s private grounds lost behind them.  The sun may have set on the wealthiest part of Minrathous, but the light never truly left the streets.  Dozens of torches and orbs of magical light turned the stonework and gold leaf and mosaics into a shimmering dream, keeping the streets well illuminated for the city’s nightlife.  As Frostback’s long strides carried them down the main street, clopping loudly, Dorian could see more than one pair of appreciative eyes following him, and specifically lingering on the new slave at the end of his chain.  Word would spread quickly: the anti-slave Magister Dorian Pavus had finally gotten himself a slave like a proper member of the Tevinter upper class.

“Anti-slave” was something that no one had called Dorian until he returned to Tevinter after the Inquisition.  Growing up, the practice of owning people had never seemed odd.  Slaves were as common as grass. Better to be a well-treated slave than to drown in abject poverty – it was something he had believed back then, and perhaps on some days he still did.  But “well-treated” was often not the reality of the situation, and that was the first thing he wanted to change.  The first of many.

Maevaris liked to joke that Dorian was going to turn the entirety of Tevinter into the South.  “Goodness no,” he’d joked in response.  “Do you know how cold it gets down there?  Give me Tevinter heat any day.” 

“Pro-slave” was what his companions in the Inquisition had called him, some with scorn in their voice.  Even Inquisitor Lavellan had clashed with him on the subject.  Though he now considered her to be his dearest friend, the barbs from her hot words still stung.

_“The markings on your face.  Are they… Dalish?”_

_“As opposed to slave?”_

Dorian had been shaken by the mental image of his leader, his friend, with a slave’s collar around her neck.  He hadn’t been able to put that image out of his mind since then.

Dorian had three years away from his homeland, three years working alongside some of the brightest minds in Thedas who were now some of his closest friends.  He couldn’t return home unchanged.  Now, every time he saw someone speak to a slave, order a slave, yank a slave around by the collar they wore, he asked himself how he would feel if someone treated his Inquisitor that way.

He wondered how he would feel if he saw Inquisitor Lavellan collared and chained and led beside a horse through the streets.  Dorian cursed under his breath and nipped his heel gently into Frostback’s side, steering him towards the nearest alley.  He couldn’t do this.

The street was short, a sharp turn at the end that lead deeper into the boxy maze of Minrathous, and he knew there was a splay of small alleyways that wound through the city like worms.  He led Frostback down the narrow street until the lights of the main roads were just a distant glow, listening carefully to make sure no one was following.

Well, he  _knew_  there would likely be spies all about, but that was Tevinter for you.  The best you could hope for was  _fewer_ spies.

They reached an alleyway together, the buildings a tight press, stone still sun-warm, a shallow puddle affording a low  _splash_  as Dorian dismounted in a fluid movement.

Fenris stepped back from him uneasily.  “ … What are you doing?”

“Taking a back road,” Dorian grunted.  Reins in one hand and Fenris’ chain in the other, he led them down the alley on foot.  Frostback’s hooves _clipclopped,_ Dorian’s shoes made a similar noise, and Fenris’ bare feet splashed through puddles as they made their way through the narrow streets.

—-

Minrathous towered behind Dorian, spearing at the night sky, as he stepped through her gates and past the city guards, onto the Imperial Highway.  A gold-green prairie spread out before him, punctuated by rocky outcroppings of geological shifts long past, the vast expanse of the Valerian Fields.  Mountains loomed on the horizon, the peaks of the High Reaches just shadows against the night.

Towards those mountains was a tall stone outcropping crested in a sprawling mansion, fortified by the landscape as much as its walls.  Although it was too dark to see, Dorian knew this view by heart, and his eyes immediately found the point in the darkness that he knew was the Pavus summer home.

Dorian let out a breath of relief and mounted Frostback’s saddle, not slipping his legs into the stirrups.  He extended a hand to Fenris.

“Mount up,” he ordered.  “We won’t be there until dawn if you walk.”

Fenris stepped away from Frostback suspiciously.  “I don’t ride.”

“You’ll ride today.”

Fenris glared.  Seething, he approached Frostback and grabbed the saddle, slipping his foot into the stirrup and nearly losing his balance.  Dorian rolled his eyes, grabbed Fenris’s shackled hands, and  _yanked._

Fenris yelped and scrambled into the saddle, heavily assisted by Dorian.  As soon as he was astride the horse, Fenris pulled back as far as he could, rigid as steel.

Dorian handed the elf his own chain.  “Hold this.  If you fall, you don’t want to get dragged behind.”

Fenris took the chain.  “I won’t fall.”

“Then you may want to hold on.”

“I have no intention of touching you more than I have to.”

Dorian shrugged.  He clicked his tongue, and Frostback broke into a crisp walk.  Fenris cursed loudly and flung his chained hands over Dorian’s head, clinging to him fiercely.

“Fasta Vass –!”  Dorian squirmed and snarled over his shoulder.  “He’s just _walking_!”

Fenris muffled a frustrated growl against Dorian’s shoulder.

Dorian heaved a sigh.  “I’m going to tell him to actually  _run_ now.  Try not to drag me off my own horse?”

Fenris had just enough time to bark half a curse before Dorian’s tongue clicked again, and Frostback  _moved._

_—-_

The mansion felt like childhood and stomach aches.

Frostback’s canter slowed to a trot and finally a walk as Dorian approached his family’s summer home.  He craned his head back to stare at the towers of harsh geometry, letting Frostback’s sure hooves find footing on the rocky trail up.  Sickly familiar, all of it.

It wasn’t until they stepped through the courtyard gates – thoughtfully opened and shut by one of the guards that Dorian kept on staff – and Frostback came to a stop that Fenris’s grip around Dorian’s chest loosened even slightly.

“This is where you let go,” Dorian informed him.

Fenris let out a displeased grunt and lifted his chained arms over Dorian’s head, pulling back.

Dorian didn’t keep slaves, but he did keep a small and well-paid staff to maintain the grounds.  Within seconds of dismounting – and coaxing a stiff-muscled Fenris down from the saddle – a stable hand was taking Frostback’s reins out of his hands and leading the horse off.  Dorian trusted his own staff as much as he trusted anyone in Tevinter, but he wasn’t an idiot.  It still wasn’t until they stepped inside the mansion and shut the doors that Dorian huffed out a breath and let his shoulders slump.

“Maker willing, I will  _never_ attend Magister Aurelian’s parties ever again,” he breathed, leaning against the closed wooden doors.  He turned to find Fenris standing in the hall, holding his own chains and watching Dorian uneasily.

Dorian took a step closer.  “All right, this is going to be awkward.  I’d like to take your shackles off, but I’d appreciate you not killing me.  I have plans, you see, and I would hate to die before I fixed the entire world.”  He hesitated.  “ … Are we on the same page?”

Fenris just narrowed his eyes.

Dorian rubbed a hand over his face.  “Good, very reassuring.”  

He looped his fingers into the collar around Fenris’s throat, finding the magical lock on it.  A soft zap from his hand, and it snapped open.  Another zap to the manacles, and all of Fenris’ chains fell to the floor in a jingling golden pile. Before the last heavy link had hit the floor, Fenris’ hand was locked around Dorian’s throat and slamming him into the nearest wall.

“Fasta Vass – !”  Dorian thrust a wall of magical force into the elf, throwing him off and pinning him hard against the opposing wall.  Panting, Dorian rubbed his sore throat while holding his hand out to keep Fenris locked in place.  “I  _said,_ ” he bit out, _“_ I would  _appreciate you not killing me.  I have plans – ”_

Fenris bared his teeth, squirming against the force of Dorian’s magic.  “I heard you the first time!”

“Let me  _finish,_ ” Dorian snarled.  He rolled his stiff shoulder and cracked his neck, wincing.  “I have  _plans_ , and I would hate to die before  _I fixed.  The.  Entire.  World.”_

Silence fell, broken only by tense panting.  Dorian could feel Fenris pushing against his magic, trying to break free.  The color had drained from the elf’s face, his breathing labored.

Dorian cursed under his breath.  This was going to be harder than he thought.  He could treat Fenris well  _or_ he could survive in a household with someone who wanted him dead, but he didn’t think he could do both.

Fenris let out a frustrated whimper, and finally went still against the wall.  He dropped his eyes away from Dorian, staring angrily at the floor.  “ … It doesn’t matter,” he grunted, his voice faint.  “It’s not like I can leave.  If I kill you, I’ll just – I’ll just end up with a different Magister.”

Dorian’s eyebrows furrowed.  Cautiously, he lowered his hand, lessening the magical pressure until Fenris could step away from the wall.  The elf still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and in the warm glow of the torches, Dorian could see that he was trembling.  His lean, silver-lined arms were hugging his stomach.

“ … I’m not going to hurt you,” Dorian promised.  In spite of his soft voice, Fenris winced.  “I’m never going to put shackles on you again.  What would I gain by lying about this?”

“Wh-whatever sick game gets you off, I suppose,” Fenris snapped back. There was a sickly pallor under his skin that hadn’t been there before Dorian had cast his spell.  

Dorian’s gut twisted suddenly.   _Ex-slave,_ Varric’s book had said.   _Danarius had been the first to perfect the lyrium branding._

Shit, no wonder Fenris was upset by having magic used against him.

“I’d like to show you to your room,” Dorian offered, trying to keep his voice soft as if he was speaking to a spooked horse.  “It’s going to be your own space and I won’t follow you there.  If you’re hungry, I’ll get you some food.  And I promise you, I won’t ever use magic on you again.”

Fenris managed a strangled laugh.  “Do you enjoy lying to me?”

Dorian’s lip twitched.  His patience was going to get a workout with this elf.  He turned on his heel, striding past Fenris and down the hall.  “Just follow me and try not to – ”

A powerful hand on his shoulder cut off his words.  Before Dorian could speak, he was spun around and thrown against the nearest wall, Fenris’ hand pressed under his jaw.  The elf’s teeth were bared, his lyrium brands glowing.

For a moment, neither of them moved.  Fenris glared at Dorian as if waiting for something, his jaw twitching.  At length, Dorian swallowed, his throat bobbing against the elf’s hand.  

“Are you going to let me go?” he murmured softly.

Fenris’s eyes bored into him like an animal assessing prey.  He slipped his hand off of Dorian’s throat, and in a flash slapped it across his face.

Dorian yelped and pressed a hand against his stinging cheek.   _“Ow!”_   He glared at the elf.  “Why the  _face_?”

Fenris let out a soft snarl of frustration and stepped back quickly.   “ … Th-this doesn’t mean anything.  I’ve already decided not to kill you, so keeping your word costs you nothing.” 

“It cost me a  _slap_ ,” Dorian complained, still rubbing his face.

Fenris sneered.  “Consider that my  _thanks_ for being such a kind master and removing my chains.”

“Oh, we’re just going to get along  _splendidly._ ”  Still rubbing his sore cheek, Dorian stalked down the hallway.  Eventually, he could hear footsteps as Fenris followed.

The mansion was small enough to be cozy, but lavish enough to be worthy of the Pavus name.  Although the exterior was as harsh and rigid as Tevinter pride, the inside was a decadent spread of marble and gold and mosaics.  Some of the mosaics were bloody, and over those, Dorian had hung tapestries and paintings of things he actually liked.  He’d rather look at a nice oil painting of the Emerald Graves than yet another richly detailed mosaic of Tevinter’s enemies being cut down into a bloody froth.

The door to the bedroom creaked as Dorian pushed it open.  The lavish room was dominated by a velvet bed, piled with silky pillows, all shades of purple and green, all richly patterned.  Crackling braziers in the corners filled the room with a golden glow and kept the crispness of the night at bay.Large windows offered a view of the sprawling plains outside.  In the daytime, standing by these windows, Dorian could see other summer mansions in the distance, and beyond them, the towering majesty of the High Reaches.  

It was a beautiful view that was never enough to draw him into this hated room.

Fenris followed him into the room gingerly, but Dorian was relieved to see merely confusion in the elf’s eyes and not open fear.

“You can sleep in here,” Dorian announced.  “Do you require anything else?”

Fenris gave him a look.  “Freedom.”

“ … You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Never.”

Dorian sighed.  “I have an unpleasant errand in the morning, and unfortunately I’ll need to bring you along or else appear ungrateful for my ‘gift.’  Dinner will be brought to you, and in the morning, breakfast.”

“And who will be bringing me this food?”

“My  _paid staff,”_ Dorian ground out.  He crossed his arms, glaring at the elf.  “Who are free to quit whenever they please.”

Fenris frowned.  

“ … I’ll just leave you be, then,” Dorian said at last.  He shuffled his feet, but something made him linger.  “ … You said you wouldn’t be able to leave anyway.  Why?”

Fenris blinked at him.  “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is… and perhaps I am a fool for saying so… you could have killed me and snuck out the gates and been on your merry way.”

Fenris’ eyebrows rose in something that looked like genuine surprise.  “ … You really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

Fenris turned and strode into the room, approaching the dark window.  “ … If you’ve read  _Tales of the Champion,_ you know you’re not my first master.”

“A loathsome term that I don’t identify with, but go on.”

“Danarius had a summer home like this one.”  Fenris leaned against the wall, staring out the dark window that afforded no view, just the angry reflection of his face.  “Not this expensive, but similar.  Have you ever been hunting on these plains?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes.  “ … A few times, long ago.”

“Then you’re one of many.  In the summer, there are more Tevinter nobles on the the Valerian Plains than wolves.  Do you know what happens to slaves who try to run away from summer homes?”

Something cold pooled in Dorian’s stomach. 

Fenris turned away from the window.  “Danarius once  _ordered_ me to try escaping just so he could hunt me down.  There’s an understanding between the Magisters here: any slave on the plains is available to whoever can catch them.” Fenris’ eyes turned on Dorian.“Tell me, Magister, what game did you used to hunt?”

Dorian’s throat felt dry.  His eyes darted towards the window, towards the dark horizon that he knew held other summer mansions. All he could see was their strange tableaux, Fenris’ tense shoulders and Dorian’s oddly pale face.

“Deer,” he managed.  He turned on his heel and left the room.  “See you in the morning.”

He stalked out without a glance back, leaving Fenris standing alone next to the bed that had once belonged to a child named Dorian Pavus.


	3. Doublespeak

Behind closed doors and after too much wine, some people joked that Magister Ether Arida was part Qunari.

The man was tall and broad enough that he would have made a fine warrior if he hadn’t been born a mage.  His thick beard and long hair were always combed into immaculate order, the streaks of grey appearing at his temples only serving to make him look more regal, and no less fearsome.  He was a man disposed towards loud parties with ample drink and sexually available slaves, and his preferred method of problem-solving was to be large and intimidating until his problems found someone smaller to bully.

Dorian would never compare Magister Arida to a Qunari.  There was a certain Qunari that Dorian respected too much for that.

If Magister Arida was spending his time in a summer home, it would have taken Dorian only a short ride to meet with him.However, despite the beckoning breezes of the Valerian Plains, the man was still holed up in Minrathous. Magister Ether Arida always claimed that the decision was about proximity to his business and all the _best_ parties, but most people knew that it was because he couldn’t _afford_ a summer home.Everything that Magister Arida owned was inherited from a man who had been a far better Magister than Arida could ever aspire to be.

Frostback’s hooves clopped over the dirty mosaicked streets of Minrathous as Dorian rode through the shining city.  Beside him, Fenris sat tensely astride a brown pony with simple tack, gripping the saddle like he expected the horse to buck him at any minute.

Sharing one of his fine personal steeds with a slave would have been a scandal, but no one expected Magisters to commute from a summer home with their slaves on foot.  That was what ponies were for.  Dorian had picked the sweetest, most patient horse in his stables for Fenris to ride into Minrathous that morning, although Fenris wasn’t  _riding_  so much as sitting on the horse in a ball of terror while it calmly followed Frostback through the streets.

“Don’t dig your legs into his side so much,” Dorian murmured, not letting his eyes drift towards his slave.  “That’s how you say ‘go faster’ in horse.”

Fenris immediately loosened his grip, but he was still tense in the saddle.  Dorian chuckled.

“Don’t worry.  Felix knows to ignore anything you say to him.”

Fenris gave a dismissive snort in response, tugging at his clothing for the fiftieth time that morning.  The revealing whites that Fenris had worn home from the slave auction were splendid for showing off a prize slave, but it was plain how uncomfortable they made him.  After some digging through old dusty closets, Dorian had found something serviceable.  The fabric was black, satiny, and plain, crossed over Fenris’s chest and draped around his hips above matching pants.  The boarders were gold, and a single peacock feather was pinned to the wrapped fabric to mark him as property of house Pavus.  Fenris’s arms were revealed, as well as a thin sliver of flat stomach between the top and bottom parts of the outfit, but other than that his lyrium-lined skin was hidden from the eyes of the nobles they passed.

“If you hate this man,” Fenris murmured as their horses rode down the street, “why visit him?”

Dorian’s frown deepened as he was reminded of his purpose in the city. _Magister Ether Arida._ The man was a cousin to Livia Arida, Gereon Alexius’ wife.  After the death of Alexius at the hands of the Inquisitor, and Felix’s illness, Ether became the next eligible heir for Alexius’ seat in the Magisterium.

Not someone Dorian was entirely comfortable with, considering his own involvement with the Inquisition and the events at Redcliffe.  But so far, Magister Arida had proven reassuringly disinterested in revenge, and promisingly interested in bribery.  

“Politics,” Dorian replied simply.  He gave a soft tug on Frostback’s reins, and the horse turned towards a side street, with Felix the pony following automatically.  “Something about making a change in the world, fluff and unicorns and so on.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes.  He kept his voice low enough to not be heard by the crowd.  “ … You know, Magister, I dabbled in my own sort of politics before you found me on a slave block.”

Dorian grunted.  “Did you now?”

“I did it by taking slaver’s heads off.”

“And yet slavers remain.”

“Where I hunted them, they slink around like frightened rats.”  Fenris’ voice held a note of relish that sent a chill down Dorian’s spine.  “They didn’t take well to my  _politics_  at the edge of a sword.  Too scared to get their guts on the sand.  Do you know, Magister, I’ve slaughtered so many Vints that I’ve  _lost track._ ”

“Are you trying to shock me?” Dorian asked with an air of amusement.

Fenris’ gaze slid towards Dorian.  “Have you ever seen a man’s eyes when he realizes he’s losing more blood than he can survive?  How many men have _you_  killed?”

Doran’s lip curled, thinking of the waves of fire he had crashed into the enemies of the Inquisition.  “I’ve  _lost track._ ”

Fenris let out a huff.  He turned his attention back to hating being on a horse, not speaking another word.

Magister Arida’s mansion was a stately affair in the middle of the city, surrounded by only a small perimeter of gardens.  Dorian felt a prickle of uncomfortable nostalgia creep up his spine as their horses mounted the marble stairs, clopping between beds of lavender and crystal grace.  He had visited this mansion all the time when he worked with Alexius, before it had been inherited by Magister Arida.

There were guards outside the mansion, not quite within earshot yet.  Dorian cursed under his breath and tugged lightly on Frostback’s reins, and the pale horse stopped in his tracks in the middle of the gardens.  Felix stopped alongside him, and Fenris wobbled in his saddle at the sudden halt.

“I’m sorry for this,” Dorian began, reaching into his robes.  “But I need to ask something unpleasant of you.”

Too far from the street to be overheard, too far from the guards to be overheard.  This was the only place he could do it and explain himself at all.

Fenris pulled back warily.  Dorian couldn’t meet the elf’s eyes as he pulled out a black leather collar, stamped with intricate golden runes.

“No,” Fenris said at once.  “I won’t.”

“You’re dangerous, Fenris, and unfortunately most people know it.  This collar will prevent you from using your lyrium abilities.  I can’t be seen as letting you run around unchecked or else – ” 

“ – Or else your precious politics will be at risk,” Fenris finished angrily.

“ … Yes.”  Dorian held the collar out, finally meeting Fenris’ eyes. 

Fenris’s face was flushed with rage.  His eyes darted towards the mansion doors, towards the guards that stood there.  He glanced back at the city behind them, at the sprawling streets, riddled with mages and surrounded by walls.

“Y-you waited until we were here so I wouldn’t be able to say no,” he accused under his breath.

Dorian swallowed.  “Yes.”

“You  _told_ me you would let me say  _no._ ”

Dorian cringed.  He felt Fenris snatch the collar out of his hand.  Fenris wouldn’t meet his eyes as he slid the collar around his own throat with shaking hands, pulling it tight.  The runes glowed for a moment, and the collar locked in place.

Dorian let out a tense breath.  “Thank you.  I’m sorry.”

Fenris remained silent, his gaze on the ground.

Dorian bit his tongue and dug his heels into Frostback’s sides, urging him forward again.

—

“Magister Dorian Pavus!” Arida boomed as Dorian stepped into his richly furnished foyer.  The man strode across the room in thumping strides, extending a massive hand and a fake smile.  “Always a pleasure!  To what do I owe the visit?”

Dorian shook the man’s hand graciously.  “The Antivan red you served me on my last visit has haunted my dreams.  I simply had to return to see if you had more.”

“You’re a coy one, Magister Pavus,” Arida scolded.  “But I’m not fooled.  Come to my study and we’ll discuss whatever deathly boring matter you’re actually here for.  Over wine, of course.”

The study was the same one that had been Alexius’.  Dorian tried to keep himself from twitching tensely as he strode into the room and looked around.  There was a rich assortment of books filling the shelves, but Dorian doubted that any actual studying had happened here since the room had belonged to Alexius.

Fenris followed him with downcast eyes.  A casual observer would have seen a broken slave, but Dorian could feel anger seething off the elf.  He wondered absently if he was going to get slapped again when they got home.  He might deserve it.

Magister Arida offered him a seat in a high-backed armchair, and Dorian sat down.  Fenris stood quietly by his side, not making a sound.  The Magister huffed as he settled into his own chair, setting down a bottle of wine next to two silver goblets.  His powerful arms bulged under his sleeves as he poured.  The view of his bare arms would have been magnificent, but Dorian knew why they were covered.  If those sleeves were rolled up, the scars of a blood magic user would be revealed.

It was one reason Dorian always wore sleeveless clothes to visits like this.  Not all Magisters could boast unbroken skin.

Arida leaned back in his chair with a sigh.  “All right, you have your wine, Magister Pavus.  Now tell me what you’re really here for.”

Dorian picked up his goblet, taking a slow, decadent sip before beginning.  “Tell me, have you gotten wind of the bill I mean to propose to the Magisterium?”

The Magister’s laugh was loud and deep.  “Everyone and their slaves know about your  _bill_!  We’re all just wondering how you mean to make it pass.”

“Two words.”  Dorian took a sip of his wine, holding eye contact with the Magister over the rim.  “Tevinter supremacy.”

The Magister’s mocking smile faded.  His brow furrowed.  “ … And how is that?”

“When the Imperium was a power unmatched across all of Thedas, we did as we pleased and we did away with anyone who disagreed.  Now we walk on eggshells around other nations, scared to offend lest their trade become unfavorable.”  Dorian’s voice was sharp, precise.  “I do not believe in an Imperium that is  _scared._ ”

“And you think your bill will change that?”

“Certainly.”  Dorian sipped his wine.  “If we take better care of our goods, we won’t need to purchase them as often.  If we purchase goods from foreign lands less often, we will have fewer shits to give about whether or not they like us.  And anyone who wastes our goods and makes us more reliant on foreign powers ought to be held  _accountable._ ”  He smiled.  “Besides, consider how much revenue the bill will create.  Money for military, for economic conquest across Thedas… why, you could finally fund that pet project of yours.  What was it again?  A pleasure garden on the outskirts of Minrathous?”

Magister Arida chuckled.  “Are you bribing me, Magister Pavus?”

“Are you turning it down, Magister Arida?”

Magister Arida settled back in his chair.  He looked Dorian over thoughtfully, swirling his wine in its goblet.  “ … Tevinter supremacy, you say?”

Dorian’s mustache twitched in a smile.  “Forever and always my goal.”

“And your bill will achieve this by… ”

“Keeping it local.”

“You’ve done a lot of traveling for someone who likes to keep it local, Magister Pavus.”

“Exactly.  I’ve traveled half of Thedas, and I still prefer it here.”

Magister Arida laughed.  He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his muscular thighs and lowering his voice.  “All right.  Let’s say I lend my vote to this bill of yours.  Doing so would make me some enemies.  There are many who consider your bill to be… anti-Tevinter.”

Sometimes, when the stars aligned, Dorian had the chance to say something to a Magister that he truly believed.  He met Arida’s eyes, his playful smile gone.  “My first and only goal in the Magisterium is to make Tevinter the very best it can be.  If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

“ … I see.”  Arida’s eyes flicked to Dorian’s left, where Fenris stood silently.  “You don’t normally bring a slave with you, Magister Pavus.”

“I’m picky.”  Dorian gestured with his goblet towards Fenris without looking at him.  “I’ve only now found one that I like.”

“And a good pick he is.”  Magister Arida paused for a moment, musing over his wine before speaking.  “ … The sight of him by your side will reassure some people that you may not be as anti-Tevinter as they fear.”

Dorian sipped his wine silently in response.

“ … I may be able to support your bill,” Arida relented.  “If luck blows your way, I may even convince some others to join me in support.  But you must know that it will  _cost_ me, Dorian.  Even with a slave by your side, people will talk.”

“How can I soothe the wounds this bill will inflict upon you, Magister Arida?”

“A pleasure garden on the outskirts of Minrathous will certainly help,” Magister Arida joked.  He lifted his goblet to his lips, and his eyes slid towards Fenris again.  “ … Four votes, Magister Pavus.  I can promise myself and three others.  In return, you see to it that I get my garden built, and you vote for the bill that  _I_ will be proposing next week.”

“The one concerning coffee imports?  Consider it done, Magister Arida.”

“ … One more thing.”

Dorian’s wine hesitated on the way to his lips.  Magister Arida’s eyes hadn’t left Fenris.

“The garden, the vote, and one lovely night with your new slave.  Give me these three things, and I will see that you have four more votes when your bill hits the floor.”

Dorian’s knuckles whitened on his goblet.  He set it down on the table with a thud, making no effort to soften the gesture.  “Not negotiable.  He is  _mine._ ”

He didn’t dare glance at Fenris, but he swore he could hear the elf’s heart hammering.

“I’m afraid he must be negotiable, Magister Pavus.  You give me a night with your little rabbit, or I don’t deliver.”

“I’ll take three votes,” Dorian said sharply.  “I don’t need the forth.  Will that settle things?”

“If I don’t get a night with your slave, you don’t get  _one_ vote, Pavus.”

Dorian’s jaw clenched.  “Don’t be unreasonable.  The deal is good.  If you want it sweetened, let me find some other – ”

“Why are you so averse to sharing him?  He’s only a _slave.”_

“He is  _my_ slave.  I am quite protective of things that are  _mine,_ and I don’t intend to let others use him.  Why do you want him so badly?”

“I had a personal slave of my own not so long ago.”  Arida’s eyes were crawling over Fenris’s body in a way that made Dorian want to rip them out of their sockets.  “A little rabbit just like yours with long pretty ears.  But elven slaves have been so difficult to come across lately, and I confess, Magister, I have a  _taste_ for them.”

Rage boiled in Dorian’s stomach, but he kept his hot words locked behind his teeth.  He  _needed_ those votes if his bill was going to survive on the floor of the Magisterium.  After making it so far, achieving so much, it stung to think of his bill dying here, right now, so close to success.  For one dark moment, a soft voice in the back of his mind breathed “ _the greater good_ ,” and Dorian hesitated.  One night and Dorian’s conscious in exchange for real and meaningful change.

But Dorian rather liked being able to fall asleep at night.

He stood up.  “ … I’m disappointed, Magister Arida.  I was looking forward to seeing your pleasure garden.  I know it would have been splendid.”

Magister Arida just smiled.  “Think it over.  My offer isn’t going anywhere.”

“I will not be thinking it over.  My mind is made up.”

“Mine as well, Magister Pavus.”

Dorian’s jaw twitched and he fought down the urge to hurl a fireball at the man.  Instead, he turned his feet sharply away, snapping his fingers at Fenris as he passed.  Fenris fell in line behind him obediently, but Dorian could hear the sharp catch of the elf’s breath, rapid and shallow.

Dorian didn’t bother to bid the Magister farewell before stalking out of his mansion.

—-

The ride home was tense and wordless.  Fenris didn’t make a sound, avoiding Dorian’s eyes.  Neither one of them broke the silence as Frostback and Felix carried them across the Valerian Fields back to the Pavus summer home.

It wasn’t until they stepped through the front doors that Dorian cleared his throat.  

“ … Let me take your collar off,” he offered, his voice quiet.  “You don’t need to wear it here.”

Fenris’ fist slammed into the wall so hard that the plaster cracked.  A nearby table rocked at the impact, an expensive vase teetering.  It wobbled, rolling in a precarious circle, before stabilizing and falling still.

Dorian swallowed.  “Fenris – ”

Without looking up, Fenris thrust his arm out and shoved the vase off the table. It shattered on the marble floor.  Dorian’s eyes dropped to the mess and he let out a sigh.

“ … That was expensive.”

“Then punish me,” Fenris growled.  When he finally lifted his burning gaze, Dorian wished he hadn’t.  “That’s what you do to  _slaves_ after all.”

“I told you,” Dorian tried, “you’re not my – ”

“Bullshit.”  Fenris jabbed a finger at his collar.  “You made me put this around my neck.”

“I’m s-sorry.”  The word felt hollow in Dorian’s own ears.  “I wish I didn’t – ”

Fenris silenced Dorian with a glare.  Holding eye contact, he walked to another vase on a table next to the first, and placed his hand against it.

“ … I’m sorry,” Dorian breathed.

Fenris shoved, and the vase shattered.  Dorian cringed at the crash.

“Why don’t you punish your disobedient slave,  _Magister Pavus_?”  Fenris’s green eyes were on fire as he stalked towards Dorian.  “I’m  _yours,_ remember?  Only you get to  _use_ me.  That’s what you said.”

Dorian stepped back, his stomach twisting.  “I d-don’t intend to  _use_ you.”

“Really?  You used me today.”  Fenris followed Dorian’s retreating footsteps, cornering him.  “How do I know you won’t use me again tonight?”

Dorian’s back thumped against the wall.  He cringed when Fenris’s fist slammed into the wall next to his head.

“Stop acting like you actually  _care,”_ the elf snarled.  “If you did, you’d let me go and you’d stop playing politics.”

_I want to stop playing politics more than anything._ Dorian couldn’t force the words out.  Shame strangled him.

“Say something, Magister.  Why haven’t you used your slave yet?”

Dorian let out a sickened choke, turning his face away, his stomach rebelling.  “Th-that’s not something I do.”

Fenris’ lip curled.  He was so close they were almost touching, nearly breathing on Dorian’s face.  “Is it no good for you if I’m unwilling?  Is that why you keep telling me to trust you?”

“Stop.”  Dorian’s voice came out weak.  He was pressing himself against the wall so hard that he could feel the imprint of his clothing on his skin.

“Here, let me make it easier for you.”  Fenris let out a soft breath, a mockery of arousal.  “Master,  _please_  – ”

Dorian’s arm shot out and a pillar of ice thundered out of the floor, slamming into Fenris’ chest.  The elf was knocked onto his back by the force of the blow.  Dorian stood over the massive crystal of ice with his arm extended, his shallow breath steaming in the suddenly chill air, sweat cold on his face.  Fenris blinked up at him in surprise, pulling himself to his feet quickly and stepping back.  Dorian lowered his shaking arm.

“I – I’m sorry.”  He pressed an urgent hand over his mouth and shuddered, his stomach churning dangerously.  “I – I know I promised not to use magic on you and – I’m sorry – ”

Before Fenris could say a word, Dorian bolted out of the room.  His shaking legs carried him down the hall and didn’t stop until he was leaning heavily against the slammed door of his study, breathing hard.  The sunny room was cozy even with the fireplace cold, blissfully silent and empty.  The bookshelves that lined the walls swam before Dorian’s eyes, dark wood and neatly-bound leather spines, all in neat organized rows.  The sight calmed him somewhat, and he tried to take a slow breath.

He heard footsteps, stopping just outside.  Dorian bit his lip and locked the door with a loud click.

The footsteps paused.  Dorian barely breathed, still leaning against the weathered wood.  The words “ _master, please”_ squirmed in his stomach.

The footsteps turned and walked away.  Dorian let out a heavy breath, slumping against the door and closing his eyes in relief.He raised a hand and conjured a gently wafting breeze that settled on his skin in freezing breaths, just like it used to at Skyhold. 


	4. Fencemending

The high-backed velvet chair cradled him.Dorian’s feet were crossed on a stool, twitching violently as he pretended he could read the book in his lap.He couldn’t focus on the neat ink words over the deafening voice in his head.

_Why haven’t you used your slave yet?_

Uncomfortable memories plagued him, memories of a bright smile and blue eyes and pointed ears that he had loved to nibble on.The memories festered in his stomach no matter how hard he tried to push them down.

_Why haven’t you used your slave yet?_

He couldn’t tell if he was hearing the words in Fenris’ voice or his father’s.

The morning had mellowed into sticky afternoon heat.Dorian hadn’t left his study, but he had unlocked the door when one of his housekeepers brought him lunch.His window was open, a breeze washing over his face as he pretended to read.It wasn’t the same as his little library in Skyhold, but it was the closest he could get.An oil painting of the Inquisition’s castle hung on his wall, in case he wanted to really simmer in the nostalgia.

None of it calmed him now.

_“What’s your name?”_

_“Rilienus, Master.”_

_“I’ve seen you staring at me.”_

_“I can stop if you like.”_

_“I’d like you to do more than stare.”_

Dorian had only been sixteen, and for all his smooth talk, he’d been too flustered to take things very far with his father’s slave.But he still remembered the way Rilienus had gasped against his lips when they fooled around behind the gardens, the words he’d breathed.

_“Master, please... ”_

Since Dorian had returned to the Imperium, he’d wondered every day if that _please_ had been genuine.

Footsteps pattered softly down the hall, approaching his room.Dorian knew the footfalls of his staff by heart, and this wasn’t one of them.The strides were long, even, and deliberate.Dorian didn’t turn around as he heard the footsteps stop outside his open door.

“ ... I don’t like you,” Fenris said by way of greeting.

Dorian’s jaw twitched.“That makes two of us,” he grunted, glaring at his book.

“Let me finish.”Fenris heaved a deep sigh.“I don’t like you, but... I shouldn’t have done what I did.The way I treated you, that’s not -- that’s not who I am.I’m better than some Magister who corners people unwillingly.”

Dorian was glad that Fenris couldn’t see his cringe.

“ ... I... brought you dinner from the kitchens.”

Dorian finally turned around.Fenris held out a tray of food, stubbornly avoiding Dorian’s gaze.The meal on the plate looked delicious -- some sort of glazed roasted meat and a sweet bun studded with candied fruits and seeds -- but Dorian hadn’t taken his antidotes.

He sighed sadly.“I can’t eat that.”

Fenris’s gaze snapped up, his scowl back.He set the tray down with a thud on a table.“I am _trying_ to apologize.”

“Fenris -- ”

“I simply regretted my actions and -- no, I should have known better than to expect civility.”

“ _Fenris --_ ”

“Fine.But I’m not bringing you something more _palatable._ You can get your own dinner.”

“I can’t do that because -- ”

Fenris picked up the sweet bun and bit into it.The color drained from Dorian’s face as the elf chewed and swallowed.

“ ... because people are... trying to poison me,” Dorian finished numbly, his throat dry.

Fenris’s scowl melted.His gaze snapped down to the food and then up to Dorian.The bun dropped from his hand and bounced on the floor, a spray of seeds falling off.

Dorian sprang out of his chair so fast that its wooden feet scraped across the floor.He crossed the room to Fenris’s side in three long strides.

“Did you eat _anything_ else?”

Wide-eyed, Fenris shook his head.His hand wandered uncomfortably to his stomach.“ ... No... ”

“Good.Fasta Vass -- ”Dorian pulled up the nearest chair.“Sit.Don’t move.The faster your heart beats, the faster the poison will spread.”

“I just ate _poison,_ my heart is _racing_!” Fenris snarled.He sat down in the chair, tensing as Dorian strode towards the door.“Hey -- where are you going?”

“Antidotes!” Dorian called back before racing down the hall.

\----

This week, they were stashed under the floorboards in his bedroom, a nondescript leather bag filled with tiny vials.He’d made each antidote himself, never purchasing his ingredients from the same store twice in a row.Dorian yanked out the bag and didn’t bother to replace the loose board before bolting back to his study, his heart pounding.

He rushed through the door to find Fenris’ chair empty.A wet heaving noise brought his attention to the back of the room.Fenris was bent over Dorian’s wastebasket, gripping the metal rim with shaking hands and panting into it.

Dorian rushed to his side, falling to his knees beside the elf.“Is this you or the poison?”

“It started as me,” Fenris rasped.His voice was thick and trembling, his eyes not straying from the messy contents of the wastebasket.“Your meal was -- definitely poisoned -- _vishantekaffasshit --_ ”

He leaned over the basket and heaved again, his whole body shaking.

Dorian cursed and dumped the tiny vials onto the floor.They rolled across the carpet, shimmering in the afternoon light.“Okay, there’s good news and bad news.”

“What is the _fucking_ bad news?” Fenris rasped into the basket, his bare arms slick with sweat.

“Since you’re vomiting, you can’t ingest these orally.”Dorian uncorked the first bottle.“Unfortunately, there aren’t many places on the body that will absorb the antidotes quickly.Do you prefer eyeballs or the backdoor?”

Fenris gave Dorian a stare that nearly burned through his skin.He snatched the open vial out of Dorian’s hand and knocked it back like a shot.

Dorian cursed.“Fenris!I don’t have more of that made, if you vomit it up -- ”

“I will keep it down or I will _die,”_ Fenris snarled, grabbing the next vial off the floor with shaking hands.He sipped it moved on to the next, letting out a weary huff.“ ... Wh-what’s the good news?”

Dorian exhaled tensely through his nose.“I have a fresh dose of antidote on hand for every common poison except blackleaf.”

Fenris gave him an exhausted, pallid glare before picking up the next vial.He pulled the cork out with shaking hands and took a sip, corking it again.“Wh-why not blackleaf?” he rasped.

Dorian had already uncorked the next antidote and was handing it to him.“No fresh batches, and I don’t trust it stale.”

“I’ll trust it stale,” Fenris ground out.He sipped the next antidote.

“I never use my antidotes more than a week after making them.They become decoys.”

Fenris stared at him over the vomit-filled wastebasket in disbelief.“ _Decoys_?”

“In case someone poisons them.”

“ _People are trying to poison your antidotes_?”

Stone-faced, Dorian pressed the next antidote into Fenris’ hand.Fenris heaved once, slapped a hand over his mouth, and cringed before letting out a sigh and taking the antidote.

“Don’t worry,” Dorian said dryly.“If it was blackleaf, you’d be dead by now and there would be no vomiting.”

“Comforting,” Fenris said weakly.He knocked back the last antidote and heaved a sigh.“ ... You said _common_ poisons.”

Dorian met Fenris’ gaze silently. 

Fenris nodded.“Excellent.Let’s see if I die.”He let out a shaky breath and leaned back from the wastebasket, bracing himself on his arms.Dorian bit his lip and shuffled so he was sitting next to the panting elf.

“If you start making any lurching noises,” he threatened, “I’m holding your mouth shut.”

“I’ll beat you to it,” Fenris shot back, his voice exhausted.

The room fell into sour silence, filled only by the labored heave of Fenris’ breath.Dorian drummed his fingers against the floor, guilt twisting in his gut.He’d warned his staff long ago not to touch his food for fear of poison, made sure they always carried their own antidotes around, but even so, it was a miracle that something like this hadn’t happened sooner.

“ ... It won’t be a rare poison,” Dorian offered.“If someone has pockets deep enough to purchase rare poison, they’ll make sure it gets into my bloodstream with something more sophisticated than a sweet roll.Probably.”

“Your l-life is crazy,” Fenris dragged out.He wiped a hand over his mouth, still panting.“Why are so many people trying to kill you?”

“Politics,” Dorian answered simply.He leaned back, crossing his legs on the floor.“Most Magisters are trying to kill most other Magisters all the time.And it doesn’t help that I have... opinions.Opinions that many take exception to.”

“Enough exception to poison your antidotes?”

Dorian stared at his own boots.“Slavery is an old establishment, old and steeped in tradition.It’s one vertebrae in the backbone of our culture, as far as many are concerned, and they don’t like the suggestion of removing it.Better if anyone who says otherwise conveniently disappears.”

“ ... These politics of yours,” Fenris grunted.“Removing slavery is part of that?”

“It’s a long-term goal, but eventually, yes.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“I don’t know.”

Fenris didn’t answer.Dorian’s gaze wandered to the elf.Fenris was still pale, still panting, but no longer heaving like he was before.Dorian’s eyes traveled down from the elf’s face to his neck, and he averted his eyes with a cough.

“You, um... ”He licked his lips nervously.“You still have the collar on.”

Fenris let out a dismissive exhale in response.

“ ... Would you like me to take it off?” Dorian offered.

“And burn it when you’re done.”

Dorian managed a weak laugh.He collected his legs under himself and straightened up, reaching one hand towards the collar and sending a small pulse of magic through the lock.It snapped open and fell into his hand.

“There,” he offered, setting it down.“That should feel -- ”

Fenris let out a relieved breath and slumped against Dorian’s chest.Dorian almost fell backwards in surprise, going stiff.

“Don’t say a word,” Fenris growled into his shirt.“The vomiting is done, but I’m... exhausted.”

“ ... I wasn’t going to say anything,” Dorian promised.He swallowed, glancing away and drumming his fingers against the floor.“Would you... like to be assisted to your room?”

“No, just... just give me a moment.”

Dorian nodded.Wind wafted through the study, rustling Fenris’ white hair as he breathed softly against Dorian’s chest.Inch by inch, Dorian’s iron-tense body began to relax, the weight of Fenris against his chest feeling less like a terror and more like an exhausted man who had been through too much.

“ ... I forgive you, by the way,” Dorian murmured softly.“You were apologizing earlier.There’s no need.I forgive you.”

Fenris didn’t answer, his face still buried in Dorian’s chest.Dorian swallowed and continued.

“You have a right to be angry.If I were in your position, I... well, I probably would have killed me already.”Dorian took a deep breath.“For what little it maybe be worth, I’m sor-- ”

He was interrupted by a loud snore from Fenris.

Dorian shut his mouth.He rolled his eyes up to the wood-paneled ceiling and heaved a sigh.“ ... Desert pearl,” he grumbled.“That’s what you’ve been poisoned with.It reacts with the antidote to cause heavy drowsiness instead of death.”

Fenris snored in response.

In spite of himself, Dorian smiled.Carefully, he shifted himself until he could lean against a nearby table leg without bothering the sleeping elf.He reached up and groped around on the surface of the table.When his hands touched leather binding, he grinned and pulled the book down.

“ _Swords and Shields, Volume I?_ ”He snorted in disgust, turning the book over.“I thought I gave this wretched thing back to Cassandra.” 

He tsked, flipping the book open to the first page.Wind gusted off the plains, whistling through his open window.Dorian settled back against the leg of the table with a sigh, opening _Swords and Shields_ and beginning to read as Fenris snored against his chest.


	5. Realpolitik

Dorian awoke with a kink in his back.He blinked his eyes open slowly.The bookshelves of his study were illuminated by the golden light of late sunset, and the air wafting through his open window had cooled.The table leg that he had fallen asleep against still dug into his back, but somehow, he felt rested.Dorian rubbed a hand over his eyes and realized that there was an open book on his lap in place of Fenris.The elf must have woken up and slipped away.Dorian frowned down at the book. 

_Swords and Shields_ was open to chapter seventeen, which meant Dorian must have actually _read_ most of it.He scowled at the book and almost snapped it shut, but he hesitated long enough to dog-ear the page before slamming it closed.

Dorian stood up, grunting as his body protested.He often fell asleep in his comfortable reading chair, a book open in his lap, but his spine was telling him that sitting on the floor propped up by a ornately carved table leg was taking things too far.

“Fine,” he growled at his stiff back, trying to stretch out the kinks.“I’ll sleep in an actual bed tonight.”

Stretching one more time, Dorian let out a sigh and rummaged through his desk.There was someone he needed to talk to.Dorian smiled as he lifted a small object out of a hidden compartment in his desk drawer.

It had been too long since he’d spoken to the Inquisitor.

\----

_“Magister Pavus, it’s always good to hear your voice.”_

“Mercy, Inquisitor,” Dorian mock-begged.“Everyone here calls me Magister Pavus and I absolutely despise it.”

Winds whipped off the plains, gusting over the balcony that Dorian stood on.It was the highest balcony on the mansion and offered a breathtaking view of the landscape.With the setting sun, the plains were liquid gold, stretching out towards steely slopes and snowy peaks of the High Reaches.A sturdy stone railing separated Dorian from a steep, steep drop to the mosaic courtyard below.

Up this high, the wind gusted in warm bursts, tossing his hair.There was nowhere in his mansion that Dorian was less likely to be overheard.

A chuckle drifted up from the crystal in Dorian’s palm. _“And how is the Magisterium treating you, Dorian?”_

“Like a wolf treats a nug.”Dorian paced the wide balcony, looking out over the plains as shadows stretched and the sky bruised purple.“Or so they’re trying.But I’m a feisty, feisty nug.”

_“Don’t I know it.But I still worry about you, Dorian.Leliana tells me that attempts have been made on your life.”_

Dorian huffed.“Waves crash against the shore and Magisters try to kill each other.That’s how it goes.”

_“Let me send agents to help you.”_

“No, I can’t accept that offer.You have an important task of your own, and I won’t take away from your resources.”Dorian slumped down into a porch chair, leaning back against the elegantly carved wood.“ ... So Leliana told you, hm?Have you been peeping on me, dear Inquisitor?”

_“I like to keep tabs on my people.You’re one of my people, Dorian.”_

“ ... You have agents watching me already, don’t you?”

_“Only a few.I promise, you’re not draining my resources.I just want to make sure you’re all right.”_

Dorian couldn’t keep the smile off his face.“ ... I’m doing just fine, Inquisitor.You have no idea how good it is to hear a friendly voice.”

_“Is my friendly voice the only reason you called?”_

Dorian sighed and drummed his fingers against the wooden arm of the chair.“No.I have news for Varric that I don’t trust to a raven, and it may also be of interest to you.I found one of Hawke’s jolly Kirkwall band on a slave auction block a few days ago.”

_“Delltash, Dorian!Where are they now?”_

“In my... ”Dorian cringed.“ ... _possession,_ technically.He was purchased from the auction and gifted to me as a slave.”

_“He’s safe, then.Varric will want to know.”_

“Inquisitor, I... ”Dorian rubbed a hand over his face.“I just want you to know that -- ”

_“You don’t need to say it, Dorian.You’re a good man, and I know that.”_

Dorian let out a sigh, his tense shoulders relaxing.“ ... You can’t know what that means to me, dear friend.”He pulled himself out of his lounge chair, walking to the railing of the balcony.“Even so, Fenris isn’t comfortable here, and I don’t blame him.If you still feel like doing me a favor... I’d like to have him extracted.”

_“Extracted?”_

“Stolen, if you will.Since he was a gift to me, I’ll appear ungrateful if I set him free.”

_“ ... But if he’s kidnapped or ‘killed,’ that’s hardly your fault, is it?Say the word, Dorian, and I’ll make it happen.”_

“I owe you, Inquisitor.”Dorian rested his hand on the stone railing.“My bill is going to the floor in a few days.The one I told you about.”

_“Do you think it will pass?”_

“I sincerely hope so.I’ve secured nearly enough votes, and if I can just get a few more -- ”

“ ... Are you talking to a rock?”

Dorian turned.Fenris had snuck onto the porch, holding a plate with a massive slab of roasted meat, peering at the crystal in Dorian’s hand skeptically.

Dorian cleared his throat.“Would you like to talk to Fenris, Inquisitor?”

_“Is he there?”_

Fenris nearly dropped his plate off food, springing back and staring at the crystal in horror.Dorian chuckled.

“It’s a communication crystal, Fenris.It’s fine, it won’t hurt you.”He extended his hand, holding it out.“That voice you just heard comes from Inquisitor Lavellan herself.”

_“Pleased to meet you, Fenris,”_ the crystal said. _“Varric says good things about you.He also says you owe him money.Something about Wicked Grace.”_

Some of the alarm melted from Fenris’ face.He set the plate of meat down on a porch table and cautiously approached Dorian’s extended hand.“ ... Is Varric with you right now?” he asked slowly.

_“I’m afraid not.He’s in Kirkwall.Well, technically he’s running Kirkwall.Well... technically he’s trying very hard to not be running Kirkwall.”_

Before Dorian’s eyes, a smile like a sunrise graced Fenris’ face.“ ... Varric is running Kirkwall now?”

_“We’re all surprised.Usually he’s better at dodging responsibility than this.”_

Fenris chuckled.The sound warmed Dorian’s chest.“Good.He has to be better than the previous management.”

_“Fenris, Dorian told me about your situation.We’re going to arrange for you to be ‘stolen’ from him, and after we get you out of Tevinter, you’ll be free to do as you please.If you’re interested, the Inquisition always welcomes dedicated talent, and Varric has vouched for you.”_

Fenris blinked in surprise.He glanced up at Dorian.“ ... You’re going to let me go?”

_“Plans will be made.We’ll stay in touch.Keep a low profile until then.”_ There was a pause from the crystal. _“ ... Dorian, Fenris, I’m afraid I need to go.Something has come up.”_

“Don’t let us keep you,” Dorian said.“Best of luck, Inquisitor.Maker watch over you.”

_“Dareth shiral, Dorian._ ”

The crystal dimmed and went cold in Dorian’s hand.He slipped it safely into his robes.Sweet wind from the plains gusted over the balcony, carrying the first hint of nighttime crispness.

“ ... You’re really going to let me go,” Fenris murmured.

Dorian turned his eyes towards the pink blush of sunset.The sun was gone behind the peaks of the High Reaches, but clouds still reflected a golden glow onto the plains.“Don’t go packing your things yet, it could be days or weeks before the Inquisitor has a solid plan in place.”The wind shifted, and the scent of fire-roasted meat hit Dorian like a fist to his empty stomach.His eyes shifted guiltily to the plate of meat Fenris had brought, his mouth watering.“ ... I appreciate it, Fenris, but you know I can’t eat that.”

Fenris picked up the plate and brought it to the nearest table, setting it down beside Dorian.“You can eat this one.I hunted and cooked it myself.No poison.”

“You -- ”Dorian sputtered.“You _what_?”

“It’s venison.”Fenris picked up a knife that sat next to the meat, carving off a slice.He stabbed it with the point of the knife and bit off a chunk. 

Dorian slammed his hands down onto the table, leaning over the meat.“You went out on the _plains_?Alone?”

Fenris chewed and swallowed.“I was careful.”

“Someone could have caught you!Or killed you!Fasta Vass, Fenris, _you glow in the dark!_ ”

“I was _careful._ And I didn’t go far.”

Dorian just stared at the elf.Stonefaced, Fenris bit off another mouthful of meat, chewing stubbornly.

“ ... You did this for me, didn’t you?” Dorian murmured.

Fenris scowled, swallowing.“Perhaps I simply didn’t wish to fill another wastebasket with vomit.”

A strained laugh punched out of Dorian.“F-fair enough.”He took a seat across from Fenris, and Fenris passed him the knife, a chunk of meat still speared on the end.Dorian took the knife, inspecting the meat hungrily.“ ... So let me clarify a few things,” he began.“Out of all the people in Tevinter, you think that the one person I can count on to not poison me... is you?”

Fenris folded his arms.“When I wish to kill a man, I do it with a sword or my bare hands, not poison.The meat is safe to eat.”

Dorian chuckled and bit into the meat.He nearly groaned as the taste hit his tongue, hot and juicy and fresh from the fire.The entire slice was gone before he knew it, and he sheepishly handed the empty knife back to Fenris.

Fenris gave him an amused look and began carving off another slice.“Tell me about your politics, Magister,” he said abruptly as he stabbed the next slice.

“What do you mean?”

Fenris leaned back in his chair, chewing on the venison.“You’re always talking about some _bill_ that you’re trying to pass.What is it, and why does it matter to you so much?”

Dorian let out a long breath, settling back in his chair.“ ... The purpose of the bill is to make it more difficult for slaveowners to kill their slaves.Not only will this save lives, it will cut down on blood magic use.There is already an official slave registry, though its only legal use is to make slave theft more easily punishable.If my bill passes, a slaveowner must regularly prove that all of their slaves are alive and well, or else they will be heavily fined.”

Fenris chewed thoughtfully, looking out over the plains.

“ ... What do you think of it?” Dorian asked at length.

Fenris swallowed.“I think you created a fee for slave killing, and I think plenty of Magisters will be willing to pay it.If money doesn’t stand between a Magister and a gold-plated ceiling, it won’t stand between him and a dead slave either.”

Dorian let out a heavy sigh.“ ... I’ve considered this.The only thing I can do is make the price steep and the risk of getting caught high.It won’t prevent slave killings, but it may lessen them.”

A smile twisted across Fenris’ face.He handed the knife to Dorian.“And you’re telling people this is about _Tevinter supremacy_?”

“And I don’t believe that’s inaccurate.”Dorian carved himself a slice of meat.“The Imperium is a glutton for slaves, among other things.The demand is so high that most slave traders live like royalty.Oh, they’re not officially recognized and we spit on them in the streets, but they’re rolling in gold and they can make most Magisters bend over backwards if they please.”He took a bite of venison, chewing before speaking.“The Magisterium won’t risk offending anyone or any place that provides a good amount of slaves.But if we stop slaughtering them all the time... we won’t need to buy as many.”He sighed and sliced off another bite.“That is the most compelling argument I can find, anyway.”

Fenris snorted.“You’re a little too good at twisting words, Magister.”

Dorian chewed another bite, leaning back in his chair and looking out over the plains.The light in the west was nearly gone, just a faint pink glow above the mountains, darkness dominating the sky.“What do you think of it?” he asked Fenris.

“I’ve already told you.”

“Yes, but can you think of a way to make it better?”

Fenris was silent for a long time.When Dorian looked back at him, the elf was staring at him in disbelief. 

“ ... You want my help... writing a new law for the Magisterium?”

Dorian flicked the knife at Fenris.“ _Bill._ It doesn’t become a law unless I get enough votes.”

Fenris snorted.Then he laughed, his shoulders shaking as the sound spilled out of him.“I’ve lived nearly my entire life as a slave and now -- now a Magister is asking me to write laws!”

“Bill,” Dorian repeated with a scoff.

“Bill, fine.”Still chuckling, Fenris snatched the knife from Dorian’s hand.“Tell me more about this bill.”

Dorian stood up, picking up the plate of meat.“Let’s go inside, and I’ll let my piles of paperwork do the talking.It’s getting cold out here.”

\----

The study was Dorian’s sanctuary, and he never worked on his politics in there.He led Fenris through the mansion down to a locked room in the basement, filled with massive barrels of wine and carved tables, everything dark wood or red velvet.

“Welcome to the room of eternal paperwork,” Dorian announced with a wave as they descended the stairs.He led Fenris to a table that was piled high with legal books and scrolls, setting down the plate of meat.“The wine helps a lot.”

Looking around the room in wonder, Fenris slipped into a chair.He pulled back in disgust when Dorian shoved a messy stack of paper towards him.

“That,” Dorian said, slamming his hand down on the stack, “is my latest draft of the bill, all relevant laws and statues, and brief summaries of every loophole I can think of.”

Fenris recoiled from the stack of paper.“I think I prefer taking heads off,” he grumbled.

Dorian grinned and flopped down in a chair, grabbing a book and kicking his legs up on the table.Fenris sighed and picked up the first sheet.

\----

Slice by slice, the massive chunk of venison disappeared.Sheet by sheet, Fenris read through the draft of Dorian’s bill.When Dorian glanced up, he could see the elf’s lips moving silently as he read.He kept his attention focused on his book -- a history of the Imperium’s slave registry, possibly relevant to his bill -- until Fenris broke the silence.

“So, you really knew Varric?”

Dorian replied without looking up from his reading.“I still do.We worked closely together in the Inquisition.He’s an honorable man.”

Dorian turned a page, and Fenris coughed.

“ ... Clearly you’ve never played Wicked Grace with him.”

Dorian snorted a laugh.Instead of dying, the laughter grew until he was rubbing a hand over his face and putting his book down.“I still owe that bastard money,” he chuckled.

“I’d like to ask you something.”

“Anything, Fenris.”

“Do you intend to play cards with your slaves?”

“I don’t have slaves, Fenris.”

“How about an elf who could use a break from reading?”

Dorian looked up.Fenris met his eyes blankly.

A smile spread across Dorian’s face and he wrenched himself out of his chair.“I have a deck of cards around here somewhere.”


	6. Demagogue

The atmosphere between Dorian and Fenris had eased.The rage and humiliation, the self-loathing and desperation, it had all faded and mellowed into something almost... domestic.

Fenris was too antsy to sit and read all day, but Dorian would catch the elf wandering around the mansion, exploring.Sometimes Fenris would gingerly creep into Dorian’s study and peruse the shelves of books, occasionally picking one up and flipping it open.A few times, when Dorian was holed up in his work room, Fenris wandered down to join him and look over the draft of the bill.

“I’m going hunting again.”

“Not alone you’re not.”

“You’ll scare off the game.”

“I’ll scare off frolicking Magisters too.”

“ ... Very well.”

“We’ll take the horses.”

“We will not take the horses.”

The peace and calm lasted a full, blissful day.The next morning, Dorian received a missive that he knew would ruin it completely _._

Magister Valhail Therastes had not initially been a target of Dorian’s hunt for votes.The man was too unintelligent, too crass, almost a separate entity from the polished venom of the Magisterium.Valhail Therastes would never have been made a Magister if his uncle hadn’t been Archon, allowing him to bypass the usual political games.Although he had an unmistakable prowess for ice magic, he also had an unquenchable thirst for lower class company – his circle of friends a collection of slavers, Laetan, Soporati, thieves and whores.The man had all the subtlety of a druffalo.

But Valhail Therastes had an undeniable sway.He was almost a novelty in his crudeness, and some Magisters had flocked to him out of intrigue.Others mistook his idiocy for a penchant for ‘speaking his mind’ instead of the blatant ridiculousness it was, and others hoped that he would be easy to manipulate.

Dorian had hoped this as well.He had sent a missive weeks ago, asking for an audience in the hopes of persuading the man into a vote.Persuasion turned out to be the least of his worries, in fact, because Magister Valhail Therastes simply didn’t _want_ to see Dorian.Dorian’s invitations for suppers, drinks, parties and gatherings had all been returned with a blunt apology and flimsy excuse.The subtlety of a _drunk_ druffalo, at that.Sometimes there were even wine stains on the missives.

As he stood on his balcony overlooking the plains, Dorian looked down at the wine-stained missive in his hand.

_Magister Pavus,_

_I hear you have an interesting new slave.I always love to see something new.Come see me underneath the Vivazzi Plaza at noon three days hence if you want to talk._

Dorian checked the date it was sent, realizing this meeting was due for _today._ He felt a curl of hope settle in his chest, almost immediately dissipating as he realized what he might have to do in order to fulfill it.He hadn’t been beneath the Vivazzi Plaza since he was a drunk young student skipping his tutoring to go flirt with strangers, and he had certainly never been there as a Magister with a chained slave.

“You look troubled.”Fenris had wandered onto the balcony on catlike feet, and Dorian almost started at his approach, his heart beating fast.

“I… yes,” Dorian replied, folding the paper.

“What’s that?”

“An invitation,” Dorian replied, the missive dangling loose in his hand. Fenris paced towards him, checking Dorian’s expression for a moment before reaching down and taking the paper.

“Magister Valhail Therastes? Someone else you need to persuade?” Fenris asked.

“Mm,” Dorian agreed, wondering if he could somehow get away with going by himself, make some excuse for why Fenris wasn’t there.Perhaps he could bring one of his housekeepers, one of the older boys who had seen the depths of Vivazzi Plaza when he still bore the title ‘slave’.He knew it wouldn’t work -- Valhail was only arranging this meeting for the novelty of a lyrium slave, and he would lose interest the moment he realized Dorian hadn’t brought one -- but it was worth a try.

“Shall I wear the black clothes again, or would the whites be better?” Fenris asked, placing the paper down on Dorian’s desk.

Dorian blinked, his gaze snapping up.“What?”

“This Magister is only interested in seeing you if I attend.So I’m asking which clothes I should wear.”

“I’m not asking you to come, Fenris,” Dorian said impatiently.

“And why not?”

“You’d hate it there.It’s a den of depravity, slaves are expected to be collared and chained.Even my presence wouldn’t stop the other patrons from pawing at you.There’s…” Dorian sighed, closing his eyes against a developing headache behind his right eye and rubbing a hand over his temple.“ ... You’re not a prop for my political games.I shouldn’t have brought you last time.You don’t have to come.”

Fenris frowned.At length, he crossed his arms.“So... the white clothes?They reveal more of my skin.I imagine that is expected in this establishment.”

“Fenris -- ”

“You could get this man’s vote if you bring me along.”The elf tapped his finger against the wine-stained missive.“Another vote for our bill.”

Dorian lifted an eyebrow.“ ... _Our_ bill?”

“You made me read that damn thing,” Fenris growled.“Don’t throw out votes.If you’re going to be a Magister, then _change things._ ”

Dorian sighed, turning away and leaning against the balcony railing.He closed his eyes and pictured Fenris collared and chained, dragged behind him.His hands tensed on the carved stone rail.“ ... Are you certain about this?”

“Yes.”

“ ... Very well.The black clothes will do fine.”

Fenris’ scowl deepened.“Are you saying that because it’s the better option, or for my sake?”

“If I must bring you along,” Dorian snapped, “I won’t make this any worse than it has to be.The white clothes barely cover you, I know you’re not comfortable in those.”

An troubled look crossed Fenris’ face.He wrinkled his nose and pulled back.“ ... Fasta vass, you have no idea how to treat a slave, do you?” he accused.

Dorian snorted.“It’s a matter of pride that I don’t.”

“If we are going to do this, then let us do it _correctly_.”Fenris crossed his arms.“I won’t be collared and chained if it doesn’t gain us anything.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Dorian ground out.

Fenris counted on his fingers.“The white clothes, for one thing.This Magister is interested in seeing my brands -- let him see plenty of them.Secondly, you’re too courteous towards me in public.You do a good job of avoiding eye contact, but you never touch me or give me commands.Although you’re trying to act possessive, it comes off as protective.Fix that.And if you speak to me, make sure you call me ‘slave,’ or maybe ‘pet’ or ‘bitch’ if you think that paints a better image.”

Dorian’s mouth felt sour.“I’ll call you slave,” he relented.“Nothing else.”

\----

The cracked bell above the Vivazzi plaza was part of an ornate roof piece designed by dwarves many ages ago. Stained glass filtered coloured sunlight over the many stalls and shops, the dome-shaped structure supported by eight tall pillars as wide around as a cottage, spaces in between filled with silk hangings in bright reds and oranges.

Despite the open-walled design, the heat inside was sweltering, like stepping into an oven. It was constantly packed, the threat of pick-pockets a looming presence as Dorian made his way through the crowd.Fenris followed close beside him, slightly behind Dorian’s paces, his steps short and tight to keep his clothes from swishing.In place of pants, a single cut of soft white fabric was wrapped around his hips, cinched at the hip with a shining golden clasp.It revealed his entire thigh on one side, and unless he walked carefully, it revealed a lot more than that.The outfit’s top was no better, one soft stretch of fabric that cinched at one shoulder, leaving the other -- and most of his chest and stomach -- completely bare.

Worst of all, the collar was back around Fenris’ neck, the golden runes glinting in the stained glass light.Dorian tried not to look at it.

In the middle of the Plaza was a water feature, a huge fountain that was bordered by a procession of dancing women, all dressed in swirls of red and orange silk.Slaves who were considered especially beautiful or graceful were often purchased by the owners of the Vivazzi Plaza, trained in the art of dance and placed as a centre-piece in an architectural structure that was widely considered as a work of art in Minrathous.

A stall by the west-side was owned by a short gentleman with one missing ear who was dressed constantly in something that seemed to resemble bedsheets.His small shop proclaimed the sale of fruits, though the crates were often empty and the man often uninterested in drumming up business.The unproductive fruit shop was always situated in the same place, seeming to sprout from one massive pillar as a mushroom would from a tree.A curtain was hung at the back of the little stall, stretched across the side of the gargantuan column of stone, a curtain that would be pulled aside for those in the know.

“Magister Pavus,” the shopkeeper greeted, grinning widely and leaning on his nearly-empty fruit crates. “It’s been a while.”

“Villios,” Dorian replied, smiling tightly and gesturing Fenris forward.

The vendor whistled lowly. “This your new slave?”

“Word travels fast.Yes, this is he.”

“Best chain him now, or someone will snatch that sweet treat away from you,” Vilios advised, turning to the back of his stall and sweeping aside the curtain.A narrow crack had split the stone of the pillar, wide enough for a grown man to slip through, and beyond the crack was a spiraling tunnel with steep stone stairs, leading down into the festering bowls of Vivazzi Plaza.Villos held the curtain aside with a grin.“See that you two have a good time!”

Dorian nodded, turning to Fenris and pulling out the thin gold chain, swallowing awkwardly.

Fenris didn’t tense at the sight of the chain.Instead, he tilted his head and brushed his snowy hair aside so that the loop on his collar was revealed.Dorian fastened the chain quickly, relieved to see Fenris playing along, but something was making him uneasy.When he tugged on the chain to test it and Fenris accepted the sharp tugs with limp calmness, the discomfort swelled. 

Uneasy, Dorian wove through Vilios’ stall and guided Fenris through the crack in the pillar.His shoes _clicked_ on the stone stairs as they descended away from the sunlight and beneath the streets.

“You okay?” Dorian murmured as they walked, darkness enveloping them when Vilios lowered the curtain behind them.

Fenris gave an almost imperceptible nod in response, his face blank.

Dorian decided to leave it at that, the echo of the staircase not to be trusted as they continued their path.For a few steps, the darkness was so deep that it was hard to find footing.But not long after that, they rounded a corner, and an odd blue tint began to illuminate the curving tunnel ahead.Fenris peered up in surprise as they passed the first peculiar lamp.In place of torches, poultice bottles in nets hung from the ceiling on hooks, illuminating the tunnel with a faint blue light that not unlike the glow of deep mushrooms in natural caves.The chill of stone walls reminded Dorian of his days with the Inquisition, journeying into deep and unexplored caverns all across Orlais and Ferelden.

This cavern was far from unexplored.Chatter and music were vibrating the walls gently as they rounded a corner and neared the curtain-shielded entrance.The odd glow from the hanging potions was the only illumination down here, and it did peculiar things to any color that passed underneath it.Anything white was carved out of the darkness in blinding electric blue and purple, casting everything else into a shimmering black.Dorian glanced at Fenris and his heart jumped at the sight.The lyrium lines on Fenris’ skin _glowed_ in the strange light, shimmering and eerie, even brighter than his white silk clothes.

Fenris was giving his glowing marks a displeased grimace, twisting his arms around for inspection.“Why does everything look odd down here?”

“It’s a mixture of herbs and magic,” Dorian explained quickly.“Listen, if you wish to leave, for any reason, tug on the chain three times.”

Fenris peered at him for a moment, then nodded.

Dorian pulled in a slow breath and then pushed past the curtain into the worst-kept secret whore house in all of Minrathous.

A section of the catacombs had been caved in during the early building phase of Minrathous, and rather than rebuild, the dwarves had elected to seal the passage. It might have been intended as a treasure room, once, but it had eventually been purchased as a plot of land for the Vivazzi Plaza to stand on, and the cave lay forgotten underneath for a few centuries.

Eventually, an enterprising young pervert saw its potential, and thus the whorehouse was born. They had stuck with the ‘cave’ theme, leaving the chamber nearly unchanged, right down to the half-ruined dwarven architecture and occasional stalactite dripping on the ceiling.Every slick surface was illuminated by poultice bags and crystals filled by magic, setting the darkness into glowing swirls of light that danced strangely on the bodies of patrons and prostitutes alike.

The dancers down here were no slaves, and they carried barely-concealed weapons against their thighs and arms, slipped into silk and lace and leather.Most of them had glowing poultice smeared over their bare skin in artful swirls, each bulge and muscle exaggerated in an unearthly way, twisting like serpents in the dark as they moved.

Magisters, Altus, Laetan and Soporati were all present and perched upon every available surface.Rickety tables and chairs were scattered across the chamber, and in other places, collapsed building blocks or natural rock formations provided seating.Some corners of the vast cavern were concealed by heavy curtains to hide more nefarious activities.Everywhere, Dorian could see slaves tethered to their owners with sparkling silver chains.A loose slave was likely to be mistaken for a whore, or even snatched away by an envious thief, so chains were used to mark them as property and keep them close.

In the center of the chamber, a water fixture mimicked the one on the street above, a natural spring that dripped constantly in an echo that complimented the slow, pulsing music.

Sitting in the bowl of the fountain were two female dancers, lips locked in a hungry embrace.They were dressed in a thin white cloth that did nothing to hide the shapes of their bodies, painting glowing poultice over each other’s revealed skin.A ring of men and women were gathered around them, cheering and occasionally tossing in coins.

One of these men was Magister Valhail Therastes, and Dorian made for him quickly.He kept Fenris’ chain tight as he passed through the crowd.

“Magister Pavus!” the man greeted loudly, sloshing wine out of his goblet as he opened his arms.“I wasn’t sure you’d show up!”

Magister Valhail Therastes was a muscular man in a non-functional way, all sleek and bulging with no battle hardening.He had long blonde hair that was perpetually dirty with sweat or wine, a strong chin and blue eyes, cheekbones high on his face, a patchy beard growing in that seemed to age him immensely.

And, as usual, he was drunk. That made things easier.Dorian gave the man a wide smile. 

“And miss an excuse to have some fun?As if I’d rather be at home working.”

Valhail scoffed loudly, gesturing with his goblet again.“Pah, being a Magister isn’t about _working,_ Pavus!”He took a deep swig, his eyes drifting to Fenris and widening. “Is this your slave? Bring him forward!”

Dorian gave the chain a short, brisk tug, hoping Fenris took the cue.Like a well-trained horse, Fenris stepped forward at the first touch of pressure on the chain, falling primly to his knees and keeping his eyes downcast.The sight nearly made Dorian balk.There wasn’t an ounce of resistance in Fenris’ posture.Discomfort thumped quietly against his chest like a second heartbeat.

Valhail laughed.“Kaffas, Pavus, you’ve broken him in already!I heard this one was _wild_ when he was caught.”He grabbed a rough handful of Fenris’ hair, yanking the elf’s face up for inspection. 

Dorian bit down a startled curse, but Fenris didn’t jerk away or make a sound.He didn’t even scowl as the Magister twisted his face this way and that.

“It seems I owe Almandrius a fair amount of gold!” Valhail’s laugh boomed in the vast chamber.“I didn’t believe him when he told me he’d caught a genuine lyrium-branded elf!”

Dorian tensed at the name.Almandrius was a well-known slaver, one of the best.It was no wonder he had been able to lay a trap for someone as dangerous as Fenris.At the mention of the name, Fenris didn’t move, but Dorian could see the elf’s shoulders tighten.

“Can you really draw lyrium from those brands?” Valhail asked, oblivious.

Fenris replied automatically. “Yes, sir.”

“Pavus, you mind if I try?”

“I’m afraid I do,” Dorian cut in quickly before Fenris could say a word.He gave Valhail a smile and a wink.“I’m greedy, you see.I don’t share my favorite wine either.”

Valhail laughed at that, to Dorian’s relief.He finally let go of Fenris’ hair, and Dorian gave a short, quick, tug on the chain, signaling Fenris to stand and come back to his side.The elf complied quickly.

A giggle from the women in the pool dragged Valhail’s eyes away from Fenris.The Magister huffed reluctantly and turned away from them, gesturing for Dorian to follow.He led them a short distance to the nearest table and sat down facing the pool, leaning back in his chair so he could continue to watch the women.

“All right, Pavus, you’ve been bothering me for days to sit down and talk.We’re sitting.So talk.”

Dorian slipped into a wrought iron chair across from Valhail.The table was small, rickety, and bore a single bottle of wine and a collection of goblets.Fenris quietly picked up the bottle of wine and topped off Valhail’s drink while the man watched the women in the pool.

“I’m putting a bill forward soon, as I’m sure you know,” Dorian began.He kicked himself for the slight crack in his voice, trying to keep his eyes away from Fenris, away from the meek subservience in the elf’s demeanor.“Can I count on your vote?”

Valhail scoffed dismissively, downing a deep gulp of wine and slamming his goblet back on the table.“I hear you’re gonna create a slave tax.”

Dorian blinked.“Um... no.No, that’s not what the bill is _at all._ ”

“I like having slaves, Pavus.”

“I promise, you’ll get to keep your slaves under this new bill.”

“But you’re gonna charge me for them.”

“No, I -- ”Dorian took a deep breath and resisted the urge to rub a hand over his face.“You will be fined if you _kill_ them.As long as your slaves are alive and well, the law will not impact you at all.”

Valhail’s eyebrows rose.“Really?Huh.I heard it would be a slave tax.”

“Slaves are already taxed,” Dorian said wearily, a headache beginning to pound behind his eyes.“Any purchased good is taxed at the time of purchase.”

“Really?We should get rid of that.”

“Let’s skip to everyone’s favorite part of this conversation, Valhail,” Dorian said sharply.“The part where I bribe you.”

Valhail’s face broke into a grin.He leaned over the table and shoved his empty goblet towards Fenris.Fenris refilled it obediently.

“What are you offering?”

“That depends on what you like.”

“I like your new slave.”Valhail gulped more wine.“He knows how to keep a man’s goblet full.Are you sure I can’t try out those lyrium brands?”

Dorian’s jaw twitched.“Quite sure.And I’m not interested in parting with him.”

“A shame.I’d love to have him serving drinks at my place.He could scare the shit out of any guest I didn’t like.”Valhail drummed his fingers against the table thoughtfully.“What do you use him for, Pavus?You don’t usually have a slave with you.”

“He’s an excellent bodyguard,” Dorian offered, seeing from the corner of his eye that Fenris was quietly refilling the mouthful of wine that Valhail had taken, returning his cup to full.

“Pshhh, is that all?”Valhail gave Dorian a crude smile.“I’ve heard of your _tastes,_ Pavus.Come on, you’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

Dorian had to bite his tongue to hold back the venom he wanted to spit.His stomach lurched and he couldn’t manage a reply.

Valhail laughed, leaning back in his chair and making it creak dangerously.“Ha, I knew it!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Dorian ground out, desperately trying to weigh his options.Politically, it was favorable for people to assume he was using Fenris as a sexual outlet, but every fiber of his being screamed at the idea.

“Agh, come on, Pavus.”Valhail absently slapped the back of his hand against Fenris’ chest.“Slave, does he fuck you?”

Fenris’ eyes darted briefly to Dorian’s.He swallowed, shuffling his feet on the floor.

“ ... Yes, sir.”

Valhail bellowed with laughter and Dorian’s face heated uncomfortably.He forced down the nausea and managed a shrug and a coy smile.

“ ... You’ve caught me, Magister.”

“Well, I’ve always preferred women, but I understand the urge,” Valhail chuckled, taking another deep swig of wine.“He is _something_ , is he not?”

“And from what I hear, he nearly killed the slaver who caught him,” Dorian added quickly.He tapped a finger against his chin.“Oh, what was their name... ”

“Almandrius, yes,” Valhail filled in automatically.“Didn’t believe him when he said he’d caught a lyrium elf.Dirty old bastard, comes in here every other Tuesday, you know? I’m meeting him tomorrow for our wager about your slave -- agh, Maker’s ass, I’ve _lost_ the wager.”Valhail glared down into his goblet morosely.

“ ... Terribly sorry about that,” Dorian consoled slowly.His eyes darted to Fenris.The elf kept his face blank, but he was gripping the bottle of wine like he was trying to strangle someone.“I thought he was injured, though?”

Valhail waved a hand. “He _was_ injured. Full recovery, thank the Maker!”

“Indeed.”Dorian drummed his fingers thoughtfully against the table.Then he smiled.“Did you know, Magister, I hear that Arida will finally be constructing that pleasure garden he’s been teasing us with for years.”

Valhail lowered his goblet from his lips, interest glinting in his eyes.“ ... You don’t say?”

“I’ve promised him that this new bill -- if it passes -- will help finance it.”

Valhail barked a laugh.“Ha!Maybe your slave tax isn’t so bad, Pavus!”

“It’s not a -- ”Dorian kept his smile locked on his face like a caged animal.“ ... Yes, it’s not so bad.Maybe you can put a little heat on Arida for me, to make sure he votes for it.”

Valhail leaned over the table drunkenly, making it wobble, and held up a finger.“One more thing, Pavus.”

“One more thing?”

“Look, I like your bill, but give me one more little favor first.Then I’ll vote.”

An uncomfortable déjà vu was creeping up Dorian’s spine.He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.“Tell me your ‘one more thing.’”

“Just let me try the lyrium brands on your slave.”

Dorian let out a tense huff.“I told you, Valhail -- ”

“Oh come on, Pavus!It’ll only take a second!”He twisted around in his chair, giving Fenris a lewd smile.“We all know your slave doesn’t mind men putting their hands on him.Do you, slave?”

Dorian clenched his jaw and almost flipped the table into Valhail’s stupid face.He forced himself to stay in his chair, his foot twitching uncomfortably, his hands tight on Fenris’ chain.Waiting to feel three sharp tugs.

The chain was still.Fenris kept his eyes meekly downcast and murmured, “No, sir, I don’t mind.” 

Valhail swept a drunken hand towards Fenris, almost hitting him in the face by mistake.“See, he doesn’t mind!”

Dorian ground his teeth, his eyes darting to Fenris one more time.Still, the chain didn’t move.

“ ... All right,” he relented.“I don’t usually share my favorite wine, but I’ll share with you, Magister Therastes.”

Valhail laughed and slapped his broad palm against Fenris’ bare stomach, his sweaty fingers worming under the white silk.Fenris flinched, biting his lip, but he didn’t pull away.Valhail let out a low noise of appreciation, and Fenris’ brands glowed to blinding life, a strained gasp slipping out of the elf.

It was only a second before Valhail pulled his hand away, laughing breathlessly, but it felt like an age to Dorian.

“Andraste’s ass, that’s a _kick_!” Valhail proclaimed.He thrust his hand up towards the cavernous ceiling and shot a glittering shower of snow into the air, ice crystals flashing in the eerie light.They rained down slowly, sparkling, and dozens of nearby patrons lifted their eyes to _ooh_ and _aah_ at the display _._

Dorian sat rigid in his chair, not even twitching at the cold touch of snowflakes melting on his bare shoulders.“I trust you enjoyed yourself?”

Valhail flicked his hand a few times, tossing sparks from his fingers.“You sure you won’t sell him to me?”

“Now now, Magister.We had a deal.”

“Agh, you’re right, you’re right.I’m a man of my word, Pavus.You’ll have my vote when your bill hits the floor.”

Dorian smiled, tipping some wine against the floor to empty his goblet.He stood up and delved into his pocket to pull out a handful of sovereigns.“You’re awfully far away from the best view in the room, Magister.Shall we?”

Valhail grinned and stood up, swaying, following Dorian back to the fountain and the kissing women. 

Dorian placed the handful of sovereigns on the rim of the pool, letting them clink into a neat pile.The women both smiled at Dorian and approached him, sending glowing ripples through the water. 

“Would you like to get in with us?” one of them asked, her eyes wandering over his chest.

“I’ll have to decline, my dears.Very busy.My friend, on the other hand, may be persuaded.” Dorian nodded towards Valhail, whose grin was splitting his face.

The two girls scooped the pile of money from the edge of the fountain and nodded at Valhail.He clambered in with a laugh.

“You’re all right, Pavus!” he called.

Dorian gave him a cheeky wave.With his other hand, he gave Fenris’ chain three firm tugs. 

\----

The sunlight greeted them with open arms.Dorian let out a deep breath of relief when they stepped through Villos’ curtain and back onto the crowded plaza.Fenris emerged beside him, blinking in the sudden brightness.

Villos tsked.“You two have fun?”

“Always,” Dorian replied primly, smiling.He quickly unclipped Fenris’ chain and wound the links around his hand, slipping them under his robes.He dropped a few sovereigns into one of the empty fruit boxes.“Good doing business with you, Villos.”

“Likewise.”

Dorian brushed away quickly, with Fenris close on his heels.The chains sat heavy in his pocket.

\----

Dorian didn’t dare to speak until they were safely back in his summer home.As soon as the door was shut, he immediately strode to Fenris’ side.

“Let me take your collar off.”

Fenris gave a displeased grunt, tilting his neck.“Please.I hate this thing.”

Dorian reached out and fumbled with the collar.His first pulse of magic merely jarred the lock, and his second created a crackle and a spark that made Fenris yelp.

“Ow!”Fenris pulled back, removing the open collar and rubbing his neck.“That stung!”

Dorian shook out his tingling hand, huffing.“A-apologies.I’m tense.”

“Why?It went well.You got your vote.”

“Yes, but that hardly -- ”Dorian cursed under his breath and rubbed a hand over his face.“I f-find it hard to believe that you were -- Fenris, are you really all right?”

“ _I_ am fine.”Fenris stalked closer, peering at Dorian suspiciously.“I’ve been a slave before, and at least this time it was all an act.Did I not behave convincingly?”

“You were -- ”A pained laugh spilled out of Dorian.“ ... _Very_ convincing.You were the perfect little broken slave and I -- ”Dorian cut himself off with a strained breath, turning away.He could still see the look that had been in Fenris’ eyes.Obedient.Defeated.Compliant.

_That’s how he was with Danarius,_ a voice whispered in the back of Dorian’s mind. _You know, the master he had before you._

In the short time Fenris had been with him, Dorian had never seen the elf’s fire go out like that.

A shattering crash startled him out of his thoughts, and Dorian’s gaze snapped up to Fenris.Fenris stood innocently over a broken vase, holding another in his hands.Staring at Dorian, he dropped the second one.

_SMASH_

“Would a ‘perfect little broken slave’ do that?” he asked sharply.

The stress melted from Dorian’s shoulders.He rubbed a hand over his face and laughed weakly.

“Fasta Vass... ”He passed Fenris, stepping carefully around the shattered vase and walking down the hall.“Come on, let’s get changed and go kill dinner.”

“If you’re not feeling better yet, I can break more things,” Fenris offered eagerly.

“Please don’t.”

Fenris hesitated, then jogged to catch up.“Only because I decided not to,” he clarified as he fell into stride beside Dorian.

Dorian smiled tiredly.“That’s how I like it.”


	7. Swing Vote

The assassination, refreshingly, made itself known quite early in the soirée.

Dorian was halfway through his first goblet of ruby-red Orlesian wine when a strangled gag split the hum of conversation.Dorian’s gaze darted up sharply, his eyes scanning the crowd as shocked gasps filled the room.The source of the gurgling became clear when a Magister collapsed to the expensive marble floor, purple-faced and twitching.Nearby partygoers stepped back with looks ranging from disgust to simple confusion.

Dorian tsked and lifted his goblet to his lips again, sipping.“My my.He didn’t last long at all.”He recognized the man, a relative newcomer to the Magisterium.Magister Mareno… or was it Silus?

At Dorian’s side, Fenris kept his composure, but just barely.“A man is dying over there,” he murmured, an undercurrent of alarm in his voice.“Is that normal?”

“Quite,” Dorian replied.“It would be a bit of a dull party if no one was assassinated.Though it’s often not quite this public.”

The hum of conversation had nearly started up again, though there was now a gap of empty space around the frothing Magister, ringed by a few curious spectators.

“No one’s helping him,” Fenris noticed quietly.He didn’t sound concerned, simply perplexed.

Dorian sipped his wine.“If he had strong enough allies, they would help.It looks like he doesn’t, though.Not good enough at the Game to survive.”

A noise like a beached whale rang through the hall.Dorian’s eyes darted towards Fenris.

“Fenris,” Dorian scolded softly, “Stop smiling.”

“I like seeing Magisters die.”

“Hide your smile better.It’s what I’m doing.”

“You’re smiling inside?”

“He was at your auction.”Dorian tipped up his goblet and downed the last sip.“He called you a ‘mage treat.’”

Fenris’ failure to hide his smile worsened for a moment.

Dorian handed his empty goblet to Fenris, who took it obediently.“I wonder who found it worth their time to assassinate him.Goodness knows he wasn’t a big player.Maker, I could barely remember the man’s name.”

“Magister Arsinius appears to be dead,” someone announced.“Please watch your step, he’s drooled on the floor.We wouldn’t want another dreadful accident.”

Dorian blinked.“Well.I wasn’t even _close._ ”

Fenris dipped in a small bow and left to go refill Dorian’s goblet, melting into the crowd.Dorian sighed and assessed the room.A trio of slaves had already accumulated around Magister Mareno -- Arsinius, that was his name -- and were clearly deliberating on how to remove him while causing minimum disturbance to the soirée.

“Magister Dorian Pavus.”

Dorian turned.A woman was striding towards him, barely tall enough to reach his shoulder, but the crowd parted for her as if her mere gaze could kill them.Which it might.She didn’t spare a glance for the body on the floor, keeping her searing eyes locked on Dorian.

Dorian gave her a smile and a small bow.“Magister Viator, a pleasure.”

Magister Viator’s billowing dark curls were pulled back from her face with a sparkling jeweled hairclip.Her exposed bronze skin glowed beside the deep blue of her robes.

“Your bill,” she said sharply.“Will it pass?”

Soft footsteps at Dorian’s side told him that Fenris had returned.Without turning, Dorian held his hand out, and a fresh goblet of wine was slipped into it.He lifted the goblet towards Magister Viator in toast.

“Maker willing.Will I have your support?”

“You will.”

Dorian almost choked on his wine.He disguised it in a cough, barely keeping his composure, but his voice came out raspy.“That’s -- excellent to hear, Magister.”

“Do try to drink the wine and not breathe it, dear.”

“Apologies, Magister.I confess I am unaccustomed to having such eager allies.”

“I have no patience for wastefulness.”Magister Viator sipped her wine.“Your bill will punish wastefulness.I for one would like to see an Imperium that is built to last.”

It was a relief to smile genuinely.“You and I both, Magister.”

With one more curt nod, Magister Viator swept away into the crowd.Dorian watched her go thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb against a jewel on his golden goblet.

“Who was that?” Fenris murmured.

“Magister Viator.”Dorin sipped his new goblet of wine, hiding his words in the cup.“She’s a wolf in expensive robes, but she’s on our side, at least.”He let out a tense breath.“And she doesn’t mind letting everyone know it.Didn’t exactly keep her voice down, did she?”

Fenris grunted.“Is that bad?”

“Maker help me, I do believe it was a show of sincerity.Rare enough to find those.”

Fenris’ jaw twitched.“Assassinations are normal, sincerity is rare.I despise everything about the Imperium.”Fenris cursed under his breath.“Fasta vass, I can’t _wait_ to be freed.”

The word “freed” sent a pang through Dorian.He swallowed.“ ... I had hoped you didn’t feel like a captive any more,” he murmured.

“Then maybe you should wear the collar for a while.”

“Kinky,” Aurelian mused, swirling his wine.

Dorian clenched his teeth on a barked curse and nearly dropped his goblet of wine, spinning around.Aurelian loomed behind him, regal in deep red robes, giving him a friendly smile.

“Dorian,” he greeted, “it’s so good to know that you’re enjoying my gift.”

“Magister -- ”Dorian clenched his teeth on a smile.“ ... Pavus.It’s still Magister Pavus, dear Aurelian.”

“Goodness, how forgetful of me.”Aurelian’s dark gaze slipped from Dorian to Fenris, locking onto the elf.He tsked, extending one hand and tenderly lifting Fenris’ chin.“I do hope you’re keeping him in line.He seems well enough behaved, but a little too _mouthy_ for my taste.”

Dorian stiffened, nearly slapping the Magister’s hand away.He ground out words, barely keeping them civil.“It’s rude to put your hands on another’s property, Magister Aurelian.”

Aurelian chuckled, leaving his fingers pressed neatly under Fenris’ chin.“Dear Dorian, I thought we were familiar enough for that.Since, after all, you’re comfortable letting your slave joke about collaring you in front of me.”

Fenris was completely motionless, his eyes averted, clearly struggling to keep his breathing even.Aurelian’s thumb brushed over his lips, and Fenris closed his eyes briefly in a muffled wince.

“It _was_ a joke, of course.Wasn’t it, slave?”

Fenris swallowed.“Y-yes, sir.I would never presume.”

“Good.”Aurelian slipped his fingers off of Fenris’ chin and gave him a light, teasing slap on the cheek.“Very well behaved, just as I would expect from you, Magister Pavus.”

Dorian clenched his fists to hide the sparks boiling at his fingertips, his breath coming in slow, enraged heaves.“Kind of you to say so,” he ground out.

“Enjoy the soirée, Magister.”Aurelian smiled and clapped a friendly hand against Dorian’s bare shoulder.“The wine’s not quite as good as mine, but still excellent.”

Sipping from his goblet, Aurelian brushed past Dorian, his dark red robes swishing behind him.Dorian’s skin tingled where the man’s hand had been.He fought down a shudder and took a deep gulp of wine.

“Do you think he’ll drop dead next?” Fenris growled softly.

Dorian huffed under his breath.“Maker, I hope so.”Not even the buzz from the wine was soothing his nerves.“ ... I’m sorry that happened.”

Fenris grunted, keeping his gaze downcast and his posture submissive.“I’m used to it.”

Dorian’s stomach twisted.He took another gulp of wine, staring into his goblet in displeasure.Almost empty already.

“You’re not my master, and I’m grateful for that,” Fenris continued under his breath.“But make no mistake.As long as I’m here, I’m still a slave.”

Dorian eyed the last sip of wine in his goblet and opted to let it sit there for a while.“I can’t wait for you to be freed either,” he confessed under his breath.“I will never be used to you acting like this.”

“I’ll smash something for you when we get home.”

That pulled a small smile onto Dorian’s face.“I’m going to run out of vases at this rate.”He cast his eyes across the room, wondering if Magister Arsinius’ body had been disposed of yet.He caught sight of a familiar face looming above the crowd, and his smile soured.

Fenris caught his look.“What is it?”

“Magister Arida is here.”Bitterly, Dorian downed the last sip of his wine.“Let’s avoid him like the blight, shall we?With any luck, he’ll drink himself into an unconscious puddle before he sees us.”

Fenris’s gaze flicked Dorian’s way.“Does that happen often?”

“Quite,” Dorian scoffed.“Not that he’d ever admit it.Always swears he remembers every second of every blackout.Matter of pride, I suppose.”

For a moment, Fenris was silent.Dorian eyed his empty goblet, wondering if he really ought to have a third.Probably not, if he didn’t want to emulate Magister Arida.

“ ... He offered you four votes,” Fenris mused.

“For a steep price,” Dorian hissed sharply.“Or have you forgotten?”

“Pretend you’re groping me.”

“Wh -- _what_?”

“This is too public,” Fenris murmured.“Pretend you’re groping me.”

Dorian’s alarmed grimace faded.He looped his finger into Fenris’ collar, dragging him closer and whispering into his neck.

“You have a plan, don’t you?”

Fenris let out a soft noise as if in pleasure.“Possibly.I will need your input.”

“Shall we get out of here?”

“I think that would be best.”

Dorian cast a sidelong look at the crowd.A few people were tossing him knowing smirks or scandalized huffs.Perfect.He slipped his arm around Fenris’ waist and led him through the crowd.

\----

Any decent Minrathous soirée was riddled with publicly available alcoves for those inclined towards intimate activities.It didn’t take Dorian long to find a looming statue of a dragon tucked into a corner of the party, a black and twisted thing that shimmered dully in the torchlight and towered twice as tall as a man.Dorian dragged Fenris behind it and pressed the elf against the wall, bracing his arms on either side of Fenris’ body to trap him there.

Fenris raised an eyebrow.“Very convincing.”

“Forgive me,” Dorian drawled, “I’m so terribly out of practice with molesting my slaves.And speaking of which, I’m not selling you to Arida for a night.”

Fenris’ lip curled.“You’re damn right you’re not.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Normally I would suggest slitting his throat, but I suppose we don’t get any votes that way.”Fenris sighed as if the lack of murder pained him.“Therefore, I suggest tricking him.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes.“ ... And how exactly do we trick him into thinking he’s fucked you?”

“By getting him to drink with me.”

Dorian hesitated.He rubbed his hand over his chin thoughtfully.“ ... That might actually work.If he passes out before he can perform... he’ll never admit it.”

“When he wakes, I’ll tell him what a _magnificent_ night we had,” Fenris said with a smirk.

Dorian tsked thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against the wall next to Fenris’ head.“This is very risky.Arida must be aware of his tendency to drink himself to sleep, even if he never speaks of it.He might refuse to drink heavily.”

“Then we drug him,” Fenris shot back.

Dorian’s eyes widened.“ ... Desert pearl.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Desert pearl.It’s what you were poisoned with.”Dorian gestured in excitement.“The antidote, when mixed with the poison, causes extreme drowsiness.Even if he’s already taken an antidote, he won’t be immune to the effects.”

Fenris gave Dorian a savage grin.Dorian grinned back, then caught himself and cleared his throat.

“ ... I need to be sure you’re okay with this,” he pressed.“I won’t do it if you say no.”

“If you are certain you can mix an effective potion... I am willing.”

Dorian swallowed.He looked Fenris over.The elf’s expression was determined, but the shimmer of his collar in the torchlight made Dorian’s chest ache.

A vivid image sprang to his mind: Magister Arida’s massive hand fisted in Fenris’ hair, twisting painfully.Dorian clenched his teeth.

“ ... A safety measure first,” he murmured, lifting a hand to Fenris’ neck.He extended one finger and let heat concentrate in the digit until it was glowing like a hot iron.“Hold very still.”

Fenris flinched at the touch of heat against his skin, but didn’t move.There was nothing but trust in his eyes as Dorian lowered his glowing finger and gently touched it to one golden rune on the collar.The gold went liquid under his touch, melting one corner of the rune into a blob.Dorian felt the magic leave the collar, and he let out a long breath of relief.

“ ... There,” he murmured, pulling his hand back.“The collar won’t function now.”

Fenris blinked at him in surprise.He lifted a hand, staring at it, and his lyrium brands glowed to life.“ ... Why?”

“If he tries anything, kill him,” Dorian said sharply.“If he won’t drink with you, kill him.If the potion doesn’t work, kill him.If he wakes up too early, kill him.”

Fenris lowered his hand, the lyrium lines dimming.“ ... If I kill him, you don’t get any votes.”

“I didn’t have his votes before.”Dorian let out a tense breath.“I won’t send you there without a way to defend yourself.Play your part as long as you can stand, but... if things go badly, I’d rather he be dead and you be safe.”

Fenris looked stunned.Before Dorian’s eyes, a blush crept over the elf’s cheeks.He turned his gaze away sharply and cleared his throat.

“I -- I will be safe.”

“Good.”Dorian let out a huff.“Then let’s get back to -- ”

A sudden squeal of surprise made Dorian’s gaze snap up.He looked over his shoulder.Peering around the corner of the dragon statue, a red-faced elf slave was covering her mouth in horror while an equally red-faced Magister stood beside her, her arm looped around the elf’s waist.

Dorian gave them both a grin.“Sorry, ladies, this statue is taken.”

The Magister gave Dorian and Fenris an interested look, a smile creeping onto her face under the flush.She waved her hand dismissively.“Apologies, Magister.Please, don’t let us stop you.”She fisted her hand slowly in the slave’s shirt, tugging softly, her eyes still dragging over the pair of men.“Come along, little bunny.We’ll find some place more private.”

The Magister strode away, leading the mortified elf behind her.When Dorian huffed out a breath and turned back to Fenris, the elf was seething.

“I know what I want your next law to be,” Fenris snarled under his breath.

Dorian frowned.“ ... I don’t disagree, but that will be impossible to prove or enforce.”

“But it happens _._ And it shouldn’t _._ ”Fenris shifted uncomfortably and placed a firm hand on Dorian’s shoulder, shoving him away.“Let’s -- let’s go sell my body and get it over with.”

Dorian stepped back quickly, his chest suddenly cold.Fenris wouldn’t meet his eyes.Swallowing, Dorian turned and strode out from behind the statue, leading his slave behind him.


	8. Machtpolitik

Dorian stood tensely in the main hall of Magister Arida’s mansion, alone.His foot tapped nervously against the marble floor, echoing in the high-ceilinged hall.The first raw beams of sunlight were just starting to break through the tall windows, billowing through the pillars and spreading in cool pools of light across the floor.

Dorian had risen before the sun and galloped across the Valerian plains in the predawn gloom, just to make sure he would be here first thing when the Magister awoke.... _If_ the Magister awoke.If not, Dorian needed to be here so he could take Fenris away before the body was discovered.

The sudden echo of footsteps made Dorian tense.A slave was striding crisply down the hall towards him, a young human woman with her hands clasped behind her back.She gave a small bow as she approached him, keeping her eyes on the floor.

“Magister Pavus, Magister Arida has awoken and will be out to see you shortly.Your slave will be returned to you then.”

Dorian chewed his tongue, his foot tapping faster against the floor.“Good.Thank you.”

With another bow, the woman quietly retreated.Dorian let out a tense huff and paced, trying not to let worst-case scenarios flash through his head as his heels clacked against the floor.The Magister was still alive, so that probably meant things had gone well.But he wouldn’t know for certain until he saw Fenris’ face.

The first creak of a door opening made Dorian jump.He straightened up quickly as footsteps approached, one heavy and thumping, one soft and catlike.When Fenris and Magister Arida appeared through the wide entrance, Dorian forced himself to stay put and not run to Fenris’ side.

Magister Arida was doing an admirable job of appearing chipper.His hair and beard had been freshly combed and his face washed, but even so, he couldn’t hide the signs of what looked like a wretched hangover.Dorian’s eyes darted to Fenris, his pulse racing.Fenris’ white hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed and his steps wobbly.He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed with a lover, and Dorian’s heart almost stopped.

“You rise early, Magister Pavus,” Arida called as he approached.The man stifled a yawn, barely.

Dorian gave him a glowing smile.“I seethe with jealousy every second that my favorite slave is away.Forgive me for being so literal, but I did promise you only a _night._ ”

“Indeed, indeed.”Arida clapped a heavy hand down on Fenris’ shoulder.“And since the sun has risen, I see that I must give him back to you.You’re a lucky man, Pavus... he is a _dream_ between the sheets.”

Dorian’s stomach twisted with horrifying doubt.His gaze darted to Fenris, but the elf’s eyes were downcast.

“ ... And did you behave yourself, slave?” Dorian asked carefully.

Fenris lifted his gaze.Briefly, almost invisibly, he flashed a smile.

“Of course, Master.”

Dorian let out a long breath of relief.The terrors nipping at his mind slipped away.“Pleasure doing business with you, Magister Arida.I trust this satisfies my end of the bargain?”

“Oh, most certainly.”Magister Arida gave Dorian a knowing smile.“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you.I will back your bill on the floor of the Magisterium, and so will three of my allies.”

Dorian smiled.He snapped his fingers, and Fenris strode quickly to his side.

“I look forward to it,” Dorian replied.

\----

The Valerian Fields were dwarfed by the High Reaches, made to look like no more than a front garden to the towering mountains. From a distance, it was difficult to even _see_ the flat plains of grass that housed deer and rams and rabbit, as one’s eyes were drawn up the majestic slopes of the mountains.

Dorian didn’t get a sense of how enormously _expansive_ the Valerian Plains were until he stood in the middle of them.Grass and scrub and rocky outcroppings spanned out on all sides, windy and warm and vast.Minrathous was a mere glimmer on the horizon, yet Dorian seemed to be no closer to the mountains than he was in his summer home.

Fenris was crouched to his left, blending effortlessly with his surroundings.His fancy black silk clothes were gone, replaced with sturdy leathers that protected him from the worst of the brambles.A short dagger was strapped to his thigh, a long sword sheathed to his back, and a bow locked steadily in his hands.One notched arrow was held loosely between the elf’s sure fingers as his eyes scanned the waving grass.

Dorian was content to simply enjoy the weather.He leaned back against a sunwarmed rock crusted in lichen, getting dirt on his clothes and listening to the birds.The sky overhead was unbroken blue, pure and cloudless.The sun was a warm bath, and Dorian tilted his face upwards and breathed deeply, smiling.

They had been wandering the plains since morning -- on foot, as Fenris insisted that Frostback and Felix would scare the game away.Dorian’s feet ached and the wind cooled the sweat on his forehead, and he hadn’t felt this good since the Inquisition.

“Do you know the story of Shartan?” Dorian asked, eyes still closed. He spoke quietly, learning from experience that Fenris got _snarky_ if he perceived you as ‘scaring away the prey’.

“Parts of it,” Fenris answered, voice equally low.

“The parts involving the Valerian Fields?” Dorian asked, peering out of one eye to see that Fenris was now on one knee, bow held steadily towards a target that Dorian couldn’t see yet.The bow creaked softly as he drew his arrow back.

“No.”Fenris loosed an arrow.It shot through the grass with a soft whistle, and Fenris cursed under his breath, immediately loosing another arrow before Dorian could blink.There was a thunk, and Fenris smiled as though satisfied with the second shot.

Dorian stretched.“Is that lunch you’ve just killed?”

Fenris stood up, bow held loosely in his hand.“It is.”

With another stretch, Dorian pulled himself to his feet.He followed as Fenris walked over to the rabbit he had speared, picking it up and admiring the shot.

“It’s said,” Dorian continued, “that these fields are the place that Shartan and Andraste joined forces to fight back against the Tevinter Army.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t learn that _here,”_ Fenris asked, turning to him with an uncharacteristic smirk.

Dorian laughed.“Oh of course not, I read about it in the Inquisitor’s library. Shocking, really, that I’ve been living on a mass Tevinter cemetery in the summer months.Makes the place seem frightfully grim, doesn’t it?”

Fenris chuckled and pulled the arrow out of the dead rabbit, slipping it back into his quiver.“I think I like it.”

“What?”

“Hunting on a massive Vint graveyard.”

Dorian crossed his arms, snorting.“You _would_ like that.”

Fenris tossed the dead rabbit, and Dorian caught it with a wince.He neatly bound the rabbit’s hind feet with a length of twine, letting it hang from his belt next to another rabbit and a pheasant.Fenris’ gaze had drifted to the horizon, and suddenly he stiffened.

“Someone’s coming this way.”

“Where?” Dorian asked, looking up.He squinted as his eyes caught a flicker of movement. 

Far away but approaching fast, a single figure ran across the plains towards them, racing through the tawny-green grass.She was close enough that Dorian could tell her garb was simple, but too far for him to see her face.He pursed his eyebrows. 

“That’s not a Magister, or even Altus.Is she an escaped slave?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Fenris’ eyes widened and he charged towards the rapidly approaching woman.

“Fasta vass,” Dorian muttered under his breath, taking off after the elf.He was glad he had changed into more comfortable boots and leathers as he ran through tufts of tall grass and leaped over boulders.His already weary legs protested at the sudden sprint, but a hot wind was whipping across the plains and buffeting his face, and for a moment he could almost hear the Inquisitor’s rallying cry as their party charged across the Exalted Plains. 

Dorian could see the approaching figure better now, and it was clear she was a slave.Her garb was simple and black and tight, trimmed with gold thread but bearing no Magister’s claim.The woman’s brown hair was shorn close to her head, and metal flashed on her ears.Dorian’s heart jumped as he realized there was metal flashing at her side as well: two drawn swords, one held in each fist.

Dorian got the distinct impression that she was not running _away_ from anyone.He cursed and cast a magical barrier over himself, but Fenris was too far ahead.

“Fenris!” he shouted in warning.

Fenris had already skidded to a stop and slipped an arrow from his quiver before the word left Dorian’s lips.He notched the arrow and lifted it just before the woman reached him, but her sword knocked into his bow and the arrow sailed away into the grass.With a snarl, Fenris leapt back and tossed his bow aside, drawing his sword.

As if Fenris was no more than a brief obstacle, the woman turned her fierce eyes to Dorian.

Dorian skidded to a halt in the grass, panting.Leaving Fenris behind, the woman charged for him.

“ ... How flattering,” Dorian panted, falling into a battle stance and letting mana pool in his fingertips.He sent the crackling thought of _fire_ rippling from his chest down his arms, collecting in his palms as he thrust out his hands and hurled...

... Nothing.

Dorian blinked at his outstretched hands.Nothing graced his skin but sweat, not a single flicker of flame.The flow of mana felt blunted, dull, as if he had tried to perform a spell that he simply didn’t know.Dorian had felt this once before: in the Hinterlands alongside the Inquisitor as they battled an encampment of Templars.

“Why is a Southern Templar trying to _kill_ me?” he shouted at the woman.

She didn’t seem interested in replying, and Dorian let out a yelp as he dodged the first swing of her sword, feeling as the second one brushed the material of his shirt.

“ _Dorian_!”

Fenris’ sword flashed in the sun, and the Templar spun to block the blow with a clang. 

Dorian retreated from the fight, staring at his hands in disbelief. _Fire,_ he thought. _Lightning._ His hands remained stubbornly inert.

“I appear to be completely worthless in combat right now,” Dorian announced.He swallowed and stepped back as Fenris barely blocked a particularly fearsome blow.“Um -- good luck?”

Fenris snarled in frustration, clashing with the Templar as she fought to get to Dorian.“Help me fight her!”

“I don’t exactly have a -- ”

In a flash, Fenris pulled the knife from its sheath at his leg and tossed his sword towards Dorian.Dorian yelped and leaped back as the blade landed among the dust and grass at his feet.

“ _Fight_ her _!”_ Fenris shouted.He moved like lightning, his knife knocking aside each strike from the Templar’s twin swords, impossibly holding her at bay.She fought back with a fevered determination, her eyes burning.

Gingerly, Dorian knelt down and picked up the sword.It felt weird, and heavy.Were swords supposed to be this heavy?He lifted it awkwardly, pointing it towards the woman and circling the fight slowly, trying to flank her.A close-range fighter Dorian was not, but he understood basic battle tactics.

Fenris locked one of the Templar’s blades in the hilt of his dagger.He stepped in close and grabbed the pommel of her other sword, wrenching hard and twisting it from her grip.It clattered to the dust at their feet as the woman snarled in rage and tried to twist out of his grip.Dorian approached nervously, holding his sword out with both hands, and the woman’s dark eyes snapped towards him hotly.

The silver lines of lyrium on Fenris’ skin burst into light.He shoved an open palm towards the Templar’s face, but before it could land, she thrust out her empty hand and caught the strike.Their fingers locked, sparks flying from Fenris’ brands.For a split second, the rage melted from the woman’s face, and a hungry _wonder_ gleamed in her eyes.

“ ... That’s... _lyrium_ ,” she breathed.She grabbed Fenris’ hand in an aggressive squeeze and _pulled_.

It wasn’t a physical pull.Dorian couldn’t see it, but he could _feel_ it, a silent thunderclap that gave him a ringing headache, something not exactly magic but _definitely_ metaphysical.The glow of Fenris’ marks concentrated in his hand, spitting silver flames, and Fenris let out a sharp cry.The Templar panted, her eyes wide, and the air pressure on the plains seemed to plummet as she _sucked_ the lyrium out of Fenris’ skin.When she shoved his hand out of her grip, Fenris collapsed to his knees, gasping for air and shaking.The Templar staggered back, breathing nearly as hard as he was, staring at her hand in wonder.

Then her frenzied eyes snapped up to Dorian.

Dorian yelped a curse and jumped back as her sword flashed towards him.Her second blow clanged against his blade, nearly knocking it from his unpracticed hands.Her third blow slammed into his neck, and only the crackle of his magical barrier protected him.

“Kaffas -- ”Dorian backed up in panic as the woman advanced.He screamed _fire fire fire_ in his mind and tried to picture flames shooting down the blade in his hands, but nothing happened.He clumsily tried to block another blow from the woman, and her blade slammed into his side, nearly knocking the wind from him.Dorian’s barrier shuddered against his skin, waning.

Throwing all of his strength behind the blow, Dorian swung his sword at the woman’s head.She ducked neatly and the tip of her blade plunged at his chest.Dorian’s barrier shattered at the blow, his leather clothes barely stopping the strike from piercing his skin, and Dorian staggered back with a gasp.

“F-Fenris!” he shouted.He didn’t dare take his eyes off the Templar. _Fire.Fire.Fire!_ “Fenris, _help!”_

Her blade slammed into his ribs, biting through leather and skin.Dorian bit down a scream, his arms shaking as he struggled to hold his sword.He could feel blood leaking down the inside of his clothes, slicking the leather.She thrust her sword at his gut, and Dorian’s arms were too tired to even try to block.He jumped back, not far enough, and the tip of her sword punched through his leather shirt and about an inch of soft, unprotected flesh.

Dorian’s sword clattered from his hands and suddenly he was on his knees, nearly doubled over and screaming through clenched teeth as he pressed one white-knuckled hand against the oozing wound in his gut.He heard the _swoosh_ of the Templar raising her sword.

He heard the _thunk_ of a thrown dagger burying itself in flesh.

Dorian lifted his gaze, his vision spinning.The Templar was staggering, her face pale, Fenris’ knife lodged in her back just behind her shoulder.Behind her, on the ground, Fenris had pulled himself up onto his knees and was panting, arm still extended from hurling his knife.

Snarling, the woman twisted herself around enough to grab the dagger and yank it out, tossing it away.Before she could turn back to Dorian, Fenris pulled himself to his shaking legs.The woman stepped back, glancing between Fenris and Dorian, panting.She rolled her shoulder and cringed in pain.

Then she turned and ran, long leaping strides that carried her away across the plains.Soon the sound of her footfalls faded, and she was no more than a shrinking figure in the distance.

Blood was oozing through Dorian’s fingers.He tried to stand up and the pain nearly blinded him.

Fenris ran to Dorian’s side and dropped to his knees, a firm hand finding his shoulder.

“Dorian!”

Breathing hard, Dorian managed a smile.“Fenris, I d-do believe that was an assassin,” he managed.“How exciting.”

Fenris clenched his teeth.“A-are you all right?”

“I’ve b-been better.”Dorian swallowed hard as another pang of agony shot through his gut.“It’s not deep, but... l-let’s get me patched up with all due haste, yes?”

Fenris was still breathing hard, his eyes locked on Dorian like he was scared to look away.He swallowed, his hand tightening on Dorian’s shoulder.

“Dorian... ”

“Yes?”

Fenris frowned.“You are... _terrible_ at fighting.”

Dorian pulled back with a pained scowl.“I w-will _have_ you know that I fought alongside the Inquisitor during -- ”

“You are wretched at swordplay.”

“W-well, I’d like to see you hurl a fireball or two!”

Fenris huffed out a weary breath and pulled his shirt off.He tore off a long strip.“Try to straighten up.”

Dorian braced himself and complied, nearly buckling again at the pain.He gripped Fenris’ shoulder for support as the elf wound a leather strip around his abdomen, slightly stemming the flow of blood from his wound.

“There,” Fenris breathed, tying off the makeshift bandage.He dragged Dorian’s arm over his shoulder.“C-come on, on your feet.We need to get you home.”

Dorian clenched his teeth and bit out a high-pitched string of curses as Fenris wrenched him to his feet.He leaned on the elf for support, panting hard, Fenris’ arm wrapped around his waist to hold him steady.

“Are you going to be all right like this?” Fenris asked.

“M-merry as a fawn,” Dorian snarled through his teeth.“I’ll prance across the plains.”

Fenris frowned, but didn’t respond.Slowly, they began their journey home across, one ragged step at a time through the grass.The sun was still high and the wind was still a refreshing respite from the heat, but home was far away.

“I’ll have to teach you to fight properly,” Fenris said at last.

Dorian scoffed.“Goodness no, that sounds -- nnh -- terribly exhausting.”

“A Templar is trying to _kill_ you!” Fenris snarled.He swallowed and softened his voice.“You need... you need to be able to protect yourself without magic.”

Dorian managed a weary laugh.“Do my ears deceive me?Are you actually worried about the wellbeing of a Magister?”

Fenris twitched.He turned his eyes away sharply, still carrying Dorian across the plains step by step.

“ ... If you die, your bill dies,” he said at last.“That can’t happen.”

Dorian left it at that.But he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... And that's the first time that Fenris called Dorian by name.


	9. Arms Race

There was a very special corner in Dorian’s study, beside his reading chair.A single staff was propped against the wall without a stand or ceremony, a beautiful thing crafted from finest metal and wood.Most of the gear that Dorian used in the Inquisition had been sold to finance their cause, but the Inquisitor allowed everyone to take home a few souvenirs.

When Dorian sat in his study and read, it was comforting to know that his favorite staff was right beside him, ready if he needed it. 

Fenris glared at the staff gingerly, his arms crossed, drumming his fingers against one firm bicep.

“That won’t do,” he said at last.

“Excuse _you_ ,” Dorian scoffed.“This is one of the finest weapons you’ve ever laid eyes on.The Inquisitor had her crafted from the finest materials, and she has seen me through countless battles.”

“It is a _staff._ ”Fenris flicked his hand at the weapon.“Have you killed someone with this?”

“Are you being serious?”

“Not with magic, with the _staff._ ”

Dorian shut his mouth.He rubbed a hand over his chin thoughtfully, scraping the beard.“ ... Not that I can remember specifically, but that doesn’t mean -- ”

“You need to be capable of killing someone without magic.”

“And just what makes you think I’m not capable already?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow.“From your performance with the Templar.”

For the second time, Dorian shut his mouth.

“Blades,” Fenris pressed.“You’ll have a far easier time slaying an assassin if you can use a blade.”

“You may be somewhat biased,” Dorian huffed.“I’m sure even a non-mage can use a staff to lethal effect if they try.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes.“ ... Perhaps,” he relented.“But I don’t know how to use a staff with lethality, and I _do_ know how to use a sword.Since I’ll be training you, we’ll be using swords.”

Dorian smirked.“Oh.You’ll be training me?”

“Do you intend to be self-taught?I assure you it isn’t easy.”

“Very well, but I should warn you, I’m a terrible student.I’ve a wretched habit of skipping classes to go drinking.”

Fenris’ glare sharpened. 

Dorian coughed into his hand, his smile waning.“ ... Very well, when do we begin?”

\----

Any self-respecting mansion had about twelve rooms that absolutely no one ever used.In the case of the Pavus estate, this included a remarkably well-stocked armory.Swords and axes and shields and bows all stood on display, glinting in the torchlight, metal polished and wood oiled.Some of it was lavishly ornamental, covered in gems and goldwork and never intended for the heat of battle, but there was more than enough live steel for Dorian to arm his entire household staff if he pleased.

Fenris wandered through the armory, his gaze skimming over the racks and racks of weapons.Dorian watched the elf curiously, wondering what Fenris was looking for.A good sharp blade?Long reach?Dorian knew the basics of hitting someone with a staff, but that was as far as his melee training extended.

At length, Fenris selected a sword, bringing it over to Dorian.“This will do well for training.”

Dorian peered at the slender weapon skeptically.At its thickest, the blade was no broader than two of his fingers.

“That skinny little thing?” he scoffed.“ _Tales of the Champion_ always described your weapon as a massive sword, a great beastly thing that took two hands to swing.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow.“You think this is too light for you?”He held the sword out towards Dorian, hilt-first.“Hold it.”

Dorian frowned.Skeptically, he took the sword from Fenris and held it with the blade pointed up at a sharp angle.It had some heft to it, certainly, more than he’d expected but hardly unmanageable.It certainly wasn’t as bad as the sword he’d wielded against the Templar.The grip felt strange in his hand, but somehow _right._ Dorian’s eyes wandered up the length of the blade, and an odd sense of power tickled through him, a sensation that he normally only felt when he tapped into a new spell.

“Are you fighting the ceiling?” Fenris drawled.

Dorian’s gaze snapped back to the elf.“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you fighting the ceiling?”Fenris eyed Dorian’s sword distastefully.“Because that’s where your sword is pointed.”

Dorian rolled his eyes.He lowered the tip of the sword until it was pointed at Fenris’s crossed arms.The new angle strained different muscles, and Dorian bit his tongue and straightened his back.The sword felt substantially heavier when it was held out.

“Your arms are longer than that,” Fenris commented.He stepped back from the tip.

Dorian frowned.Slowly, he lifted his hand, extending his arm.Fenris’s expression didn’t change until Dorian was fully extended from the shoulder, arm and sword both parallel to the ground.His muscles ached and he let out a huff of exertion.

“Don’t lock your arm,” Fenris murmured. 

A faint groan slipped out of Dorian as he buckled his elbow just an inch.His arm was visibly trembling with the effort to hold the sword in place, the tip of it wobbling wildly.

Fenris nodded as if pleased.“Good.Now hold it there for an entire fight.”

“You’ve made your point,” Dorian grunted through clenched teeth.

“And move it with precision.”Fenris’s smile was vicious.“And don’t get knocked off-line when I do this.”

His hand flicked up suddenly, slapping into the side of Dorian’s blade and knocking it aside.Dorian nearly dropped the sword, and before he could even think about pointing the tip at Fenris again, the elf had stepped close enough to threateningly press two fingers against Dorian’s throat.

“Too slow,” Fenris whispered.

Dorian lowered his sword, panting.“V-very well, then,” he choked out, “it’s heavy enough.”

Fenris smiled.“Good.”

\----

The summer home had a marble courtyard with sprawling gardens.Decadent mosaics glittered with gold and lapis and onyx in the sun, displaying images of fearsome warriors battling even more fearsome beasts.Sea monsters and dragons and mighty bears battled among the sparkling gems between the towering marble pillars.

Speckled throughout the courtyard were deep beds of flowers, their honeyed scent filling the air.Butterflies flitted from one bloom to the next, and among the flowering trees, birds sang.

The birds all scattered as Dorian barked a loud curse and Fenris’ blade _clanged_ against his.

“You’re slowing down,” Fenris accused sharply, his blade still flashing through the air as if effortlessly, clanging each time it struck Dorian’s.“The slower you get, the easier it is for me to slip past your defenses.”

Fenris’ blade flicked, and the next thing Dorian knew, he was feeling the cold press of steel against his bare neck.Gasping for breath, Dorian’s shaking arms slowly lowered his sword.His legs screamed at him, but he didn’t dare to rise out of the low stance Fenris had told him to hold.The last time he did that, he got swatted with Fenris’ sword.

Panting lightly, Fenris lowered his blade.“Good.Relax for a moment.”

Dorian let out a relieved groan and staggered to the nearest stone bench, collapsing onto it.He leaned his elbows on his legs and panted, sweat dripping down his bare chest.Fenris was just as bare-chested, but Dorian hadn’t seen a single drop of sweat on the blasted man all afternoon.He didn’t understand how Fenris wasn’t as exhausted as he was.Dorian hadn’t thought that he was particularly out of shape, but now every muscle in his body was screaming.

The last time Dorian had been this sore, he’d at least been astride a Qunari by the name of Iron Bull and having the ride of his life.

“ ... Are assassinations very common?” Fenris asked, staring thoughtfully up at the shifting leaves of a flowering tree.“I do not simply mean poison.Is it common to have an assassin sent after you?”

Dorian let out a weary huff.“Well, they’re certainly not rare.Though an assassin with Templar abilities... that is quite an odd thing to see.”Dorian sighed as a wind drifted through the courtyard, cooling his face.“She was no Imperium soldier.That was a proper southern Templar with magic-dampening abilities.They don’t make them like that in Tevinter.”

Fenris paced through the dappled shade as wind shifted the flowers.“Then... someone from southern Thedas wishes you dead.”

“It’s possible,” Dorian relented.“Assassination is not the Templar way, but then again, I’m quite sure that a fantastic number of people wish me dead.Well, no accounting for taste.”He wiped sweat from his forehead.“What troubles me is her clothing.She was dressed as a slave.Was she simply dressing the part as a disguise?Or has someone actually enslaved a Templar?”

“I have no answers to these questions,” Fenris replied.

Dorian gave him a tired smile, still breathing hard.Fenris cocked his head.

“ ... Do you know why you are so exhausted?”

Dorian glared at him.“Because I’m battling a god, evidently.”

A faint smile twitched at Fenris’ mouth.“ ... Would you like to try an answer that isn’t flattery?”

“Most likely because I am unaccustomed to swordplay.”

“ ... Yes,” Fenris relented, “but that’s not all.Lift your sword.”

Dorian groaned in exhaustion, heaving himself to his feet.He did as Fenris commanded, lifting the slim steel blade so it was pointed at Fenris’ chest.The sharp point had been blunted with a leather tip, and Dorian had cast barrier spells over both of them just to be safe, but those blunted tips still _hurt_ when they rammed into him.He had the bruises to prove it.

Fenris lifted his own sword, crossing it lightly against Dorian’s.“Do I have control of your sword right now, or do you have control of mine?”

Dorian examined the angles of their blades.“ ... I have control.”

“Correct.”Fenris flicked his blade, nudging Dorian’s slightly to the side.“And now?”

“You have control.”

“Fix it.”

Dorian tried to point his blade back at the center of Fenris’ chest.Fenris’ blade resisted him.Dorian pushed harder, his arm aching, his sword scraping against the other.Fenris’ blade dipped away suddenly, and Dorian’s sword flung past the space it had occupied a second ago.Before Dorian could bring it back on line, Fenris’ blade was pointed at his chest.

“And who has control _now_?” Fenris asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dorian huffed out a weary sigh.“How do I make that not happen, please?”

“Lift your sword.”

Dorian groaned and complied.When Fenris’ blade lifted, it immediately pushed against Dorian’s, and Dorian pushed back to hold them steady.

“Your arm is tired because you push instead of moving,” Fenris instructed.His sword pressed harder against Dorian’s, and Dorian struggled to keep his blade in place.“Swords are not about strength.They are about speed and cleverness.”

Dorian’s eyes darted between Fenris’ face and their locked swords.Sharply, he flicked his sword in a quick circle, slipping off of Fenris’ blade and pointing at the elf’s chest before he could recover his own blade.Fenris grinned.

“ _Good._ Get some water and then fight me again.”

An exhausted smile crossed Dorian’s face at the praise.

\----

“You’re losing!” Fenris barked, his sword flicking and clanging against Dorian’s.

Dorian panted, backing up as Fenris advanced, his bare feet skimming the sun-warmed mosaics.“You haven’t hit me yet!”He yelped and jumped back just in time to avoid a thrust from Fenris’ sword, shoving it aside with his blade.

“You’re still _losing.”_ Fenris followed up the thrust with another advance and attack.“Where are you going?”

“Away from you!” Dorian said hotly, retreating out of range again, parrying Fenris’ blade away from his face.

Fenris grinned.“And where am _I_ going?”

“To murder me, I suppose!”

“ _Exactly._ ”

Dorian jumped back and grunted as his back slammed into a stone column.Fenris’ sword was tangled with his, and before he could react the elf was upon him, shoving him hard against the pillar with their blades locked off to the side.

“Notice your surroundings,” Fenris panted, his breath hot against Dorian’s face.“And never use retreating as a long-term strategy.I will always be able to advance faster than you can retreat.”

Dorian caught his breath, struggling to twist his blade out of the sword lock.Fenris’ body pressed harder against him, pinning him in place, and Dorian’s heart jumped at the hot press of skin-on-skin.Fenris had one firm thigh crammed between his legs, holding them open.Dorian’s hold on his sword faltered, slipping.

“Did we learn something?” Fenris murmured.He was so close Dorian could hear his breath, see the pulse flickering on his neck.

Dorian swallowed hard.“D-don’t retreat?” he guessed shakily.

Fenris chuckled.“Don’t retreat unless you have to.And pay attention to your surroundings.”He grabbed Dorian’s shoulder and gave him a playful shove, pushing him harder against the column.“Or else you might find yourself pinned between your enemy and some overpriced architecture.”

“There are worse places to be,” Dorian joked automatically, giving Fenris a flirty smile.It melted instantly and he froze.

Fenris blinked at the remark, startled.A faint blush darkened his cheeks.“N-not if I was actually trying to kill you,” he insisted.

“Y-yes, naturally,” Dorian replied.He cleared his throat, his eyes darting away, as if he could ignore the firm press of Fenris’ muscular and half-bare body against his own.His heart was pounding so hard it ached.He could feel the heat from Fenris’ body, sweltering from the work-out, his chest heaving slightly with each breath, hips practically pressed between his legs...

“I s-suppose I’ll avoid the pillars next time,” Dorian joked weakly, managing a smile.Fenris was staring at him, raw and intense, so Dorian tried another angle.“M-maybe buy me a drink before you throw me against something?Preferably a drink of water, I could use -- ”

Fenris leaned in sharply, his lips a scant inch away from Dorian’s.Dorian’s words died in his throat, his face flushing with heat.His tongue almost slipped out to wet his lips, his eyes locked on the soft, promising warmth of Fenris’ mouth...

Fenris hesitated there, panting.He was still staring at Dorian like he was trying to memorize the man’s face.But he wouldn’t close that last inch, wouldn’t let anything connect their lips but breath.

Dorian leaned closer.“Fenris... ”

Fenris grabbed Dorian’s face and crushed their mouths together, groaning with need.Dorian shuddered and his sword clanged to the ground so he could grab a fistful of that soft white hair, keeping Fenris pulled tight against him.His muscles were still on fire and all he could smell was sweat, but he didn’t _care._ Fenris groaned again and his hips _rolled,_ grinding forward against Dorian’s, pressing a familiar hard ridge into his hips.The strength nearly went out of Dorian’s knees when Fenris’ hands found his waist, pinning him in place, a second clatter splitting the courtyard as Fenris’ sword dropped to the floor.

“Maker’s breath -- ” Dorian broke away from Fenris’ lips long enough to gasp, cupping the elf’s face and diving onto his mouth again.Fenris returned the kiss with so much _hunger_ that Dorian almost collapsed, each flick of tongue and nip of teeth drawing low growls from his throat.He brushed his hand through the elf’s hair, stroking his ear, feeling the smooth bump of a gold piercing.When his thumb traced down Fenris’ neck, brushing the pale lines of lyrium, Fenris groaned into his mouth and pulled their bodies tighter together.

_He likes that._ The hazy thought drifted through Dorian’s mind.He traced his thumb along one smooth lyrium line, rewarded by a shuddering groan from Fenris.The elf’s hand slipped around the back of Dorian’s neck, cradling his head, pulling him closer.Dorian slipped his mouth down, dragging his tongue over the white lines of lyrium on Fenris’ chin, and the elf gasped. 

“Vishante kaffas, _yes_ \-- ”

Dorian kissed his way along Fenris’ sharp jaw, finding the lobe of his ear.His teeth clicked against the gold piercings as he nibbled along the soft length -- 

_\--_ Just like he used to do with his father’s slave.

Dorian jolted back, banging his head against the stone pillar.He braced his hands roughly against Fenris’ bare chest, holding the panting elf away.Fenris stared at him, the haze of pleasure gone, his lips kiss-flushed and his eyes wide.

For a moment, there was no sound except the heaving of their breath.In a flowering tree in the courtyard, a bird fluttered onto a branch and began to sing.A single drop of sweat tickled as it dripped down Dorian’s chest, and the back of his head throbbed where he had banged it against the pillar.

“U-um -- ”Dorian licked his lips, shuddering as he remembered how Fenris had felt against his mouth.“That -- that p-probably won’t happen in real combat, right?” he stammered desperately.

Fenris took a step back, putting space between their bodies, leaving Dorian’s hands pushing against air.The flush on Fenris’ face darkened.He slowly lifted a hand and touched two fingers to his lips.The silence stretched.Fenris tore his eyes away from Dorian, swallowing.

“I don’t -- ”

“That’s enough foreplay for today,” Dorian suggested loudly.He gulped hard.“Um.Swordplay.”

Fenris nodded stiffly.“Yes.Y-yes, I -- I think that’s enough.”He turned on his heel and strode away, his steps slightly too fast to be comfortable.Dorian watched him go with a pounding heart.As Fenris approached the doors of the mansion, he broke into a run, disappearing into the house.

Birds sang in the courtyard, and Dorian rubbed a shaking hand over his face.“ ... Shit... ” he whispered to his palm.He could still feel the ghost of Fenris’ lips, the hot needy press of his body.Dorian groaned and pressed his hand over his eyes, shutting out the sunlit courtyard.“ _Shit._ ”


	10. Duchess

The sticky afternoon heat simmered into evening.  The sky blushed pink, then purple, then star-scattered black.  The crisp hours of the night drifted by, and the sun rose to bathe the world in pale dawn.  Neither Dorian nor Fenris mentioned the kiss.

With the day of the vote looming and his bill not fully drafted, Dorian had little time to brood.  As soon as the silver light of dawn woke him, he stumbled out of bed and down to his wine cellar.  He poured over his bill through breakfast and tea, antidotes churning in his stomach, munching on a plate of grapes with one hand and scribbling notes with the other.  Around lunchtime, Fenris silently joined him, taking a seat across the table and picking up a reference book.  They worked without speaking, shuffling through the papers, flipping through dusty books.  The silence was too busy to be tense.

It was Fenris who finally spoke first.

“Magisters will replace slaves.”

Dorian looked up from his work, blinking.  Fenris was peering at a sheet of the bill with a frown on his face.

“ … Magisters replace slaves all the time,” Dorian began uncertainly.  “The idea is that – ”

“No, I mean that Magisters will kill a slave, buy a new slave that looks similar, and pretend that nothing happened.”  Fenris lowered the sheet and met Dorian’s eyes.  “All they have to say is ‘if anyone asks, your name is ‘Dead Slave’s Name’ now, or else Master will find a new slave to bear that name.’”

Dorian frowned thoughtfully.  He cupped his chin in his hand, leaning against his elbow.  “This is not a problem we’ve ever had before, and the slave registry has existed for centuries.  The registry includes physical descriptions of each slave and – ”

“The slave registry is only used to punish slave theft, correct?”

“More or less, yes.”

Fenris gestured at the paper-strewn table.  “If a Magister has a slave stolen, why would they try to replace them?  They want everyone to  _know_ the slave is gone so they can get them back.  That’s why you haven’t had this problem before.”

Dorian opened his mouth.  Then shut it.  Then rubbed a hand over his face.

“Fasta Vass… ”

“Add something to the bill,” Fenris urged.  “If a slave has been instructed to replace a dead one, and they confess as much, they are freed.  That will teach the Magisters not to do it.”

Dorian’s gaze snapped up.  “Every single slave in the Imperium will claim they are replacing a dead slave.  And how are we to know who is telling the truth and who isn’t?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes.  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.  “Perhaps we should simply free all of them.”

“Fenris – ”

“I know,” Fenris spat.  He leaned over the table, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.  His gaze drifted back to the papers.  “I know.  The bill will not pass that way.”

Dorian watched as Fenris’ gaze skimmed over the writing, his lips silently forming words as he read.  After a few moments, Fenris slammed his fist down on the table, making the papers rustle.

“Why is it so  _difficult_ to change things?” he snarled.  “At least when I was taking off slaver’s heads, I knew there were fewer of them!  Vishante kaffas, we’d be better off killing every Magister we saw then trying to fight them with _paperwork._ ”

Dorian chuckled at the elf’s outburst.  “Kill every Magister, hm?  Even me?”

Fenris lifted his gaze, giving Dorian a dry look.  “You’re not  _really_ a Magister, Dorian.”

Dorian sighed, his gaze searching the scattered papers for answers.  There were easily thousands of slaves in Minrathous alone.  No one could memorize all of their faces, no one could really be sure that a slave was who they said they were.  He’d worked so hard to construct a bill that would keep slaves alive, and now…

“ … I’m not even what a Magister  _should_  be,” Dorian murmured.

“Then  _become_  what a Magister should be,” Fenris shot back, his teeth bared.  “Prove that mages don’t belong in Circles, that they can manage themselves without falling to corruption.  If you believe that,  _prove_ it.”

A sudden alertness cut through Dorian’s melancholy.  His eyes widened.  “ … Circles.   _Circles_.”  He stood up suddenly, pacing beside the table, staring at the steady  _thump thump_ of his boots against the stone floor.  Words spilled out of him, racing as fast as his mind.  “The Circles of Southern Thedas use phylacteries to keep track of apprentice mages – vials of their blood.  Each vial is linked indisputably to a specific mage, no question about whose blood it is, whose magic.  If we could – ”  Dorian spun on his heel, facing Fenris suddenly.  “It’s never been done with non-magical persons.  But if there was a way for a mage to hold a vial of blood and hold someone’s hand and tell if that blood belongs to that person – ”

Fenris stood up too, his chair clattering to the ground behind him.  “ – Then it wouldn’t matter what the slave said or the Magister said.  We would  _know_ if it was the same slave.”

Dorian’s smile glowed on his face.  It faded suddenly, and he tapped a finger against his mouth.  “But can it be done?  Goodness, I could begin researching now, but we couldn’t possibly acquire valid results before the bill was due to be voted on – ”

Fenris strode towards him, grabbing the front of his robes.  “Dorian,  _can you do this_?”

“Th-there’s no way to know for certain without testing – ”  Dorian swallowed, his heart racing at the possibilities.  “If I had to guess… yes, a person’s blood might very well be as unique as the person.  And if that’s true, then there  _must_ be a magical means of identifying specific blood from a specific person.”

Fenris gave Dorian a crooked, eager smile.  “Oh, don’t tell me.  We’re going to need a  _lot_ of blood for your research.”

Dorian grinned back.  “Shall we go slaver hunting?”

“Nothing would make me happier.  I think I know where to start.”

—-

Even at the sweaty peak of the day when the sun beat down on Vivazzi Plaza and the shops and crowds were a swamp of humidity, the caverns beneath remained cool.  Dorian let out a breath of relief as he and Fenris stepped through Vilios’ curtain and into the familiar tunnel.

He was less excited about the roles that he and Fenris would have to play once they reached the bottom of those stone stairs.  

Fenris was back in his black slave clothes, the gold trim glinting eerily in the strange subterranean light.  It was a calculated decision on Dorian’s part.  Dorian didn’t know Almandrius personally, but he knew the man by reputation.  Showing skin wasn’t the proper kind of seduction for a man like him.

Dorian kept a firm image of Fenris’ savage grin in his mind, reminding himself that Fenris had agreed to all of this.

_“Will you truly be all right?”_

_“I will.  Do not break character.”_

As if sensing Dorian’s hesitation, Fenris shot him a warning look.  Dorian scoffed in return, and Fenris muffled a smile.

That smile gave Dorian the resolve to reach the bottom of the stairs.

-

The caverns below the plaza were just as eerie as Dorian remembered.  He kept Fenris’ chain tight as he wandered through the crowd, scanning for a familiar face.  Valhail had mentioned that Almandrius frequented the place on Tuesdays, but he didn’t mention  _where._ Dorian didn’t relish the idea of staying here any longer than he had to.

_“Dorian Pavus_!”

The familiar, rowdy shout made Dorian’s shoulders tense.  He turned slowly.  A short distance away, Magister Valhail Therastes himself was leaning heavily against a table and waving wildly.  

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” the man called, gripping a cup of wine drunkenly.  “Come on over here!”

Dorian fixed a smile onto his face and strode towards Valhail, yanking Fenris’ chain so that the elf stumbled after him.  He leaned over the table across from Valhail.  “Magister, I’m beginning to suspect that you live here.”

Valhail bellowed a laugh.  “I  _wish_!  If I could spend every night in bed with the dancers here, I’d be a happy man!”  He downed a thick gulp of wine before slamming the cup down.  “Aaaagh, but you’re going to drag me away from my fun, aren’t you?  Everyone’s talking about your bill.  They say you’ll be announcing it within the week.”

Dorian chuckled.  “What’s wrong, Magister?  Don’t you want to see Arida’s pleasure garden become a reality?”

“Ahaha, I forgot about that!”  The rowdy smile was back on Valhai’s scruffy face as he lifted his wine in toast.  “To your bill, Dorian!  You’ll have my vote!”

Dorian flicked two fingers in salute.  “Always an honor.  Say, have you seen Almandrius about tonight?”

“Sure.”  Vailhai’s thick finger pointed to an alcove between two ancient collapsed columns.  “Last I saw, he was over there.  Likes watching from the shadows, something about the thrill of being unseen.  Sounds like bullshit to me.  If you’re here to see the dancers, why not get a closer view?”

“Your wisdom always staggers me, Valhail.”  Dorian straightened up, giving Fenris’ chain a yank.  “Good speaking with you, but I must go.  The slaver and I have business to discuss.”

Valhail waved a hand drunkenly.  Dorian turned sharply and strode towards the shadows beneath the crumpled pillars, moving through the crowd.  Fenris followed close behind, his eyes downcast, and Dorian tried to keep his breathing even.  His heart thumped with trepidation.

A single table was tucked into the shadows of the alcove, a handful of chairs scattered around it.  A lone figure sat with his back to the wall, his face obscured in darkness by a heavy hood, illuminated only by the red glint from his pipe.  The smell of smoke and spices drifted past Dorian’s face as he approached, stepping into the shadow.

“Almandrius, I presume?” Dorian asked.

 “If you have come to do business,” Almandrius growled in a low Antivan accent, “you have come ill equipped to curry favor.  Your slave is not a welcome sight.”

Smiling brilliantly, Dorian slipped into a seat across from the man, keeping Fenris’ chain so short that the elf was forced to bend over slightly.  “Yes, I hear he gave you a fair bit of trouble.”

Almandrius slipped the pipe from his lips.  He pulled his hood back, revealing dark eyes and an unshaven face and a barely-healed gash across one cheek.  He ghosted two fingers over the wound.

“That filthy little elf nearly made me far less handsome,” he drawled.  He gave Dorian a rough smile.  “It’s a good thing I wear it well, no?”

“I believe the word is ‘rugged’,” Dorian agreed.  He yanked sharply on Fenris’ chain.  “Kneel.”

 Fenris quickly dropped to his knees between the two men, seated on the cold stone floor.  He held his hands behind his back as if they were bound, and even from behind, Dorian could tell that the elf’s breath was short.  He put the sight out of his mind and continued speaking to Almandrius.

“This filthy little knife-ear is precisely why I’ve come to see you.  You’re not the only one he’s given trouble.”

Almandrius chuckled, crossing his toned arms.  “Your face looks no worse for the wear, Magister.”

“Oh, but not because he didn’t try.”  Dorian lifted his boot and pressed it between Fenris’ shoulder blades, tightening the chain.  He could hear Fenris’ ragged breathing as the collar tightened around his throat, his back forced to arch.  “Did you know he had the audacity to slap me on the first day I brought him home?”

Almandrius whistled lowly.  “And you did not slit his throat for such insolence?  You are a more patient man than I.”

“I prefer a broken slave to a dead one.”  Dorian tsked and tightened the chain.  “You’re much better behaved now, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Fenris replied quickly, his breath short.

Dorian waved his hand.  “There you have it.”

Almandrius chuckled and leaned over the table, bracing one bare arm against the worn wood.  “The sight of this nuisance on his knees does bring me  _great_ pleasure,” he drawled, his dark eyes wandering over Fenris.  “But I doubt that my pleasure is why you are speaking to me.”

“Do I need an excuse to make conversation with a tall dark stranger?” Dorian teased, winding Fenris’ chain around his hand absently.

“I am no stranger to you, good Magister.”  Almandrius flashed his teeth.  “You greeted me by name and knew that I had caught your slave.”

“Mm.”  Dorian held eye contact, rubbing his knuckles thoughtfully over his smile.  He could feel the cold links of Fenris’ chain bump against his lips.  “Maybe your pleasure is why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

Dorian kissed the golden chain and tossed it.  Almandrius’ hand snapped up, catching Fenris’ leash out of the air.  He peered at it curiously.  Dorian crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat with a smile.

“I’ve had my chance to punish him,” Dorian explained.  “But it seems you haven’t.  Rather unfair.”

A slow, eager smile was spreading across the slaver’s face.  “Surely you’re not giving him to me.”

“Oh no, you’re not  _that_ lucky.”  Dorian gestured at the kneeling elf.  “I’m simply here to offer you an opportunity.  Just a little… payback time with my filthy little elf.  Under my supervision, of course.  I wouldn’t want you getting carried away.”

Almandrius gazed down at Fenris thoughtfully.  He yanked sharply on the chain, and Fenris followed with a wince, dragged forward until he was kneeling between the man’s legs.

“This… payback,” Almandrius asked slowly.  “What would it entail?”

Dorian snapped his fingers at Fenris without looking at him.  “Answer.”

Fenris shuddered when the slaver’s rough hand tilted his chin up.  “A-anything you want, sir.”

“Anything that leaves him functional,” Dorian corrected.  “Don’t go damaging the goods.”

Almandrius chuckled.  “No, no, certainly not.”  He let out a low noise of approval, stroking his knuckles down Fenris’ neck.  “A generous offer, Magister, but what will you gain from it?”

Dorian bit his lip.  “What else?  My own pleasure.”  

A glint of greed flashed in Almandrius’ eyes.  His gaze wandered swiftly over Dorian’s body before meeting his eyes again.  “ … Is that so, Magister?”

Dorian held out an open hand, smiling silently.  Almandrius tossed the chain back, and Dorian caught it neatly.

“So good to do business with you.”  He stood up swiftly, winding the gold chain around his hand and approaching his kneeling slave.  “Now, I’m going to leave, wander the plaza, and then return to my summer home.  I hope I’ll find you waiting there.”  

Dorian gave a sharp, sudden tug on Fenris’ chain, and the elf choked on a gasp as he was yanked backwards.  Fenris caught himself on his arms, panting against the tightness of the collar, his legs splayed open.  Dorian kept his eyes locked on the slaver as he tightened Fenris’ chain until the elf’s head was pulled back against his hips.  Thin whimpers slipped out through Fenris’ teeth, strangled by the collar.

If Dorian had been worried about sealing the deal, the lust in Almandrius’ eyes erased those fears.

—-

“How did I do?” Dorian asked as they trotted across the plains astride their horses.

Fenris gave him a brisk nod, not meeting his gaze.  “You are far more convincing as a slave owner than you used to be.  The boot against my back was a nice touch.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I could rip a man’s arms off.”  Fenris gave Dorian a humorless smile.  “Lucky me, I’m about to get the chance.”

“ … I’m sorry it was difficult for you.”

Fenris shrugged.  “It got us what we want.”

“It’s good to hear you say that.”

“Which part?”

“We.”  Dorian smiled.  “You and I are going to change Tevinter, Fenris.”

—-

Almandrius was waiting outside the mansion then they arrived, a smug shadow leaning against the stone walls.  A dark horse nibbled the grass beside him, reins hanging loose.  Almandrius smirked when Dorian and Fenris rode up.

“Your slaves deny me entrance,” he explained, jerking his head towards the tightly shut gate.

Dorian chuckled, tugging on Frostback’s reins and bringing the pale horse to a stop.  “Well, I don’t normally let strange men inside.”

“I certainly hope today is an exception.”

Dorian glanced up at the mansion’s thick walls.  He could see one of his household staff peering cautiously between the hexagonal crenulations.  “It’s quite all right,” he called up to her.  “He can come inside.”

Dorian pushed open the main door to the mansion and stepped inside.  Almandrius was close behind him, Fenris lagging a few paces after.

“If you’ll just follow me,” Dorian suggested, “I have some more private chambers where we can – ”

Dorian felt hungry hands grab his hips, pulling him to a stop.  One of them slipped under his robes, finding the round curve of his ass and squeezing.

“Why wait?” Almandrius drawled into Dorian’s neck.  His breath was hot, and Dorian could feel the brush of lips against his skin.  “You’ve got a perfectly good floor right here – ”

The sound of Fenris’ fist colliding with Almandrius’ face made a  _THUD_ that rang through the hall.  The slaver cursed, staggering away, and Dorian spun around to see Fenris calmly shaking the sting from his hand.  Dorian crossed his arms and frowned.

“The plan was to wait until we got upstairs.”

Fenris snorted.  “The  _plan_ didn’t involve him grabbing you.  I got tired of that smug grin he was wearing.”

Almandrius pressed hand over his bleeding nose, snarling a torrent of Antivan curses.  He spat blood onto the expensive floor, glaring at Dorian.

“Control your slave, Magister!”

Dorian smirked.  He shrugged helplessly.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I don’t see any slaves here.”

A flicker of confused fear crossed the slaver’s face.  Fenris grinned, and Almandrius took a step back.

“Need any help with him?” Dorian asked, examining his nails.

“Hardly.”  Fenris strode towards the slaver, his lyrium brands igniting.  “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

—-

Dorian sat in his study and watched as the last beams of evening sunlight glinted against the vial of blood as he held it up for inspection.  He inverted it thoughtfully, watching thick liquid slip from one end of the slim, corked bottle to the other, coating the inside of the glass in a ruddy film.

It looked and behaved just like anyone’s blood would.  However, in some tiny way, perhaps only detectable by magic, the blood of Almandrius might be different than the blood of anyone else.  Only research could reveal the truth.  Dorian closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, still twirling the vial of blood slowly between his fingers.  He reached out with his magical influence, feeling.  Almandrius was no mage - _that_ much he could tell.  Even so, there was a definite magical  _presence_ to the blood in his hand.  It was a low heartbeat, something hot and alive.  Power.   _Life._

With a distant voice, it called to him.  Dorian shut out the seduction as best he could.  He’d never resorted to blood magic before, and he had no intention of starting now.

It was impossible to tell if the steady thump of life was universal, or subtly unique to one man.  With a sigh, Dorian wrenched himself from his chair, pushing the hot pulse of blood from his mind.  He clearly wouldn’t be making any more progress without examining the other half of the experiment.

Golden sunlight slanted through the high windows as Dorian strode through the halls of the mansion.  The iron torch fixtures on the mosaicked walls were cold, but Dorian knew that his staff would soon be roaming the halls, lighting the commonly-used rooms so they would be easy to navigate at night.  Dorian hummed to himself, twirling the vial of blood through his fingers, as he opened a sturdy door and stepped into a room that was almost entirely windows.

The sun room was octagonal, set into a corner of the estate with a lovely sweeping view of the plains.  It faced west, sunlight pouring onto the marble floor, falling warmly across the delicate furniture and gilded artwork, glinting in the smear of blood on Almandrius’ jaw.

The slaver was tied firmly to a lavishly carved wooden chair, panting through bloody teeth, glaring at Dorian.  Fenris stood over the man, and his gaze flicked up as Dorian stepped into the room.

Dorian closed the door behind himself.  “Feeling better?”

“Much.”  Fenris wiped blood off his knuckles.  “He’s all yours.”

“I won’t keep him for long,” Dorian promised, approaching Almandrius.  The slaver scowled up at him.

“Finally ready to do the dirty work yourself, Magister?” he spat.

Dorian blinked in surprise.  He looked up at Fenris.  “I’m surprised you left his tongue intact.”

“I thought you might need his words,” Fenris replied, working the kinks out of his neck.  “I don’t really understand this whole ‘blood study’ thing.”

“That’s quite sweet of you.”  Dorian closed his eyes and reached towards the slaver.  “But I doubt his tongue will be necessary.”

Almandrius cursed something at him, but Dorian wasn’t listening.  He could feel _power_ smeared on the man’s jaw, staining his teeth.  He could feel the life in Almandrius’ veins.  Dorian squeezed the vial of blood in his other hand, pursing his eyebrows.  Was it the  _same_ power, the  _same,_ life?  He couldn’t tell.  Both pounded in his head.

With a sigh, Dorian pulled his hand back.  “ … Well.  We didn’t expect it to be easy.”

Fenris frowned.  “No good?”

“It’s impossible to tell.  We’ll need to find more test subjects.”  Dorian sighed, slipping the vial of blood into his pocket.  “I’m all done with him.”

“ …  _How_ done with him?”

“Completely.”  Dorian sighed and turned away.  “Do whatever you please.  There’s no point in keeping him alive.”

He strode out of the room, ignoring Almandrius’ enraged scream as he shut the door.  The vial of blood sat heavy in his pocket as he strode down the hall.  He could hear it whispering.

_Power,_ it said.

Dorian clenched his jaw, quickening his stride.  He’d never been a blood mage before and he wasn’t about to start now.


	11. Think Tank

Clouds had swept in over the Valerian Fields, casting an unseasonal coolness over the plains below.  Sunlight lanced through the thick clouds in bursts, only to vanish again in seconds, muffled by white and grey.  There was a distant taste of storm on the wind.

The sunlight brightened and dimmed over the courtyard as Dorian’s sword cut the humid air.  Glints of gold caught on the bare steel and the beads of sweat on his back.

_Extend the arm._ Dorian’s muscles were sore, but his mind was even as he lifted his blade until there was a straight line from sword to shoulder.   _Lift the toe.  Lunge._

He went through the motion with a soft pant, his bare foot landing firmly on the mosaic tiles.  A single drop of sweat was tickling down the dip of Dorian’s spine, but he ignored it as he straightened again.   _Extend the arm.  Lift the toe.  Lunge._

Dorian was beginning to understand the dedicated focus of weapon training.  The concentration in Cullen’s eyes, the determination of Cassandra’s swings, it made more sense now.  Dorian was surprised to discover how similar it was to learning magic.  Both arts were about focus, breathing evenly, becoming one with the craft until the very aches of your body faded away.

It helped him forget about the ten vials of blood that sat on his desk inside the mansion, glinting in the brief glows of sunlight when they peeked through the clouds.

_Extend the arm._ Dorian took a deep breath, his eyes following the long line of his blade.  He held the pose until the tip of his blade stopped wobbling.   _Lift the toe.  Lunge._

The past two weeks had melted into a haze of hard work.  Dorian barely had time to eat and sleep between the rigorous sword training, desperate scrambling to curry votes for his bill, and eerie nights of reaching into blood and brushing his fingertips against something forbidden.

Ten vials of blood sat in his office, waiting for him.

_Extend the arm.  Lift the toe._ Dorian let out an exhausted breath, steadying himself.   _Lunge._

“What are you still doing out here?”

With a strained huff, Dorian recovered from the lunge into a proper stance.  He finally allowed himself to lower his sword, and a short groan spilled out of him.  He turned to face Fenris.

The elf glared at him, arms crossed.  “You have been out here for hours.  Training is no good if you strain yourself.”

Dorian gave Fenris his best wry smile, but it was hard when he was so short of breath.  “Oh, it’s no trouble.  I simply imagine I’m driving my sword through the face of each and every Magister I hate – ”

“Overwork yourself, and you will injure your body,” Fenris cut in sharply.  “Where will you be when you cannot hold your sword?”

In place of a response, Dorian lifted his sword again.  He made a jab at an invisible foe, clenching his teeth against his screaming muscles. 

“I can hold it just fine,” he ground out.

“If you will not rest for your own sake, do it for your servants.  You’ve received a package, and to hear them tell it, they are all too intimidated to interrupt your training and inform you.”  His eyes narrowed.  “I can see now it was not your blade they feared, but your stubbornness.”

Dorian grunted.  “Well, let them languish no longer.  I am now aware of the package, and they have no need to inform me.”  He flicked his sword and jabbed again.

Fenris’ lip curled.  “If you do not stop training, I will drag you indoors and pour water down your throat even if I must beat you senseless to do it.”

The sky rumbled overhead.  Dorian looked up, and blinked as a drop of rain splashed against his forehead.  With a wince, he lowered his blade.

“ … It seems the very sky is on your side,” he relented.

Fenris grunted.  “Good.”  He turned and strode back towards the mansion. With aching, wobbling legs, Dorian followed him.  Above, the darkening sky continued to growl.

_—-_

The package was a sturdy wooden chest wrapped in ropes.  It stood waist-high, equally as long and wide, constructed from thick panels of wood and heavy iron fastenings.  A leather envelope was slipped into the ropes, bound in place.  The rough simplicity clashed against the gold and glamor of Dorian’s main hall, and Dorian was reminded for a moment of his own flashy robes in the grey-hued walls of Skyhold.  

Dorian peered at the chest curiously, stroking his chin.

“Are you going to open it or simply ponder it?” Fenris grunted.

“A Templar tried to kill me a few weeks ago,” Dorian replied.  “It’s entirely possible that this box hides another assassination attempt.”

Fenris knocked his fist against the chest.  It made a hollow noise.  “You think there is another Templar in here?” he asked dryly.

Dorian snorted.  “Stranger things have happened.”  Gingerly, he slipped the leather envelope from the ropes and opened it, removing a parchment.  A familiar handwriting was scrawled across the page.

_Magister Sparkler,_ it opened.

Dorian’s face cracked into a smile.  “I do believe this package hails from a certain gambling dwarf.”

“Varric?”  Fenris began untying the ropes that bound the chest.  “Then I doubt he has sent you a Templar assassin.”

With a chuckle, Dorian turned his attention back to the letter. Rain thundered outside as he read.

_Magister Sparkler,_

_I had a chat with Red, and she says that your armory just got a new addition.  I thought I’d help with that, so please enjoy the enclosed gift.  I also hear you’ve got some big legislative showdown coming up.  Good luck with that.  Andraste knows you’ll need it.  Don’t get discouraged if you run into a tiny problem after the vote.  I’m sure you’ll feel less broody afterwards._

_Take care of yourself,_

_Varric_

Dorian chuckled at the letter.  “Maker help me, I do miss losing Wicked Grace to that man.”  He lifted his gaze to peer curiously at the wooden box, which Fenris was pulling the ropes off of.  “ … Expanding my armory… I do wonder what his gift is.”

Fenris threw the lid off the box, and his eyes widened.  He stepped back, a flush coming to his cheeks.  Dorian approached the box and peered inside.

“ … Armor?”  He lifted a gauntlet of dark, jagged steel, inspecting it.  “That’s a fine piece of craftsmanship, but I would never wear such a thing.”

Carefully, almost tenderly, Fenris took the gauntlet from Dorian’s hand.  His lyrium-lined fingers trailed over the angular steel.  “It’s not for you.  It’s for me.”  He slipped the armored glove onto his hand, flexing his fingers and letting out a satisfied breath.  “This is a replica of what I wore in Kirkwall when I ran with Hawke.  Varric would have seen it often… but I’m impressed by the accuracy.”  He clenched his hand into a fist and grinned.  “Mmm.  Fits well.  Varric seems to know my size.”

Dorian chuckled.  “Are you going to try it on?”

Fenris made a low noise, pulling the gauntlet off and then dragging off his shirt as well.  “I don’t think you understand how much I have missed wearing this.”

Dorian’s smile softened as he watched Fenris pick up the steel-plated shirt.  He would need to send Varric some high-quality bottles of wine in thanks.  The Inquisitor had always teased Dorian for his attention to clothing, but there was _power_ in what a person wore, and Dorian knew it.  Fenris had been in slave’s garb ever since Dorian met him, and the look on the elf’s face as he slipped the breastplate on gave Dorian chills.

Dorian dropped his eyes back to the note, skimming through it again.   _I also hear you’ve got some big legislative showdown coming up.  Good luck with that._ Dorian’s smile faded, driven off by worry.  The vote was only two days away, and trepidation was beginning to brew in his chest.  All his hard work… he’d find out soon if it was ever destined to pay off, or if his time would have been better spent trying to separate the land from the sea.

To distract himself from the thought, Dorian pictured Varric sitting in his cluttered office in Kirkwall, smirking as he wrote the words  _Magister Sparkler._ That snarky dwarf must have been waiting years to write such a phrase.  But the rest of his letter… Dorian’s brow furrowed as he read through it again.  Some of the phrases were awfully cryptic.

“Expanding my armory… ”  Dorian murmured.  “What ever could he mean by that?”

“He’s talking about me.”

Dorian looked up from the letter and his pulse skipped. Fenris stood fully armored, tightening the last leather strap. The armor was dark, sharp, and lean, and once Dorian saw it, he couldn’t imagine Fenris wearing anything else.  The elf lifted one armored hand for inspection and grinned, his lyrium brands igniting.

Dorian understood immediately what Varric had meant.

This was the Fenris who gave slavers nightmares. This was the shadow that stalked the Tevinter border and left blood in his wake. This was the man who had stood beside the Champion of Kirkwall and made a legend of himself.  The sight of that much danger oozing from one man made an alarmed shiver run down Dorian’s spine, as if he were wandering the lonely wastes of Emprise du Lion and caught the first howl of pursuing wolves on the frosty wind.

Dorian had indeed acquired a new weapon to his armory, and that weapon was standing before him in perfectly fitting armour and a chilling smile.

“Mmm.” Fenris mimed a strike with a sword, panting softly through his smile. “That brings back memories. I’d like to get some blood on this.”

_Blood._ Dorian’s heart sank.  Ten vials sat on his desk, waiting for him.  With a sigh, he slipped the letter into his pocket.

“Enjoy Varric’s gift,” he urged.  “I’ll be in my study.”

Fenris gave him a roguish smile.  “Come enjoy it with me.  Let’s hunt some slavers.”

Dorian chuckled.  “Tempting.  But we have only two days until our bill is voted on.  I must dedicate myself to research in earnest.  There is still time for a breakthrough.”

“Don’t work yourself too hard.”  Fenris mimed another strike, his body twisting as if swinging a heavy blade.  “I’ll drag you out of your office if you do.”

“Naturally,” Dorian agreed.  He turned on his heel and marched to his office with every intention of Working Too Hard.

—-

Ten vials, all in a row.  They sat in a neat brass stand, filled with rusty blood.  Seven of them were from dead men: Almandrius and six other slavers that Dorian and Fenris had lured to their mansion.  Two samples had been volunteered from Dorian’s household staff.  At first, Dorian had refused to involve them in his research.  However, the need for more data points and cooperative subjects eventually drove him to accept.  

The last vial contained Dorian’s own blood.

Dorian leaned his bare, work-sore arms on the desk and stared down the vials.  Rain poured against the windows outside, casting watery grey light over his study.  The vials glinted when lightning flashed.

Hour after hour, Dorian had held the samples and closed his eyes and tried to compare them.  It was like comparing one crackling fire to another.  Surely they must be different, the flames must dance in unique ways… but how could one tell over the roar of the blaze, the heat?

Dorian trailed his fingers over the line of vials.  Reaching into the blood was unnerving.  Dorian hoped that his research revealed answers soon, because he didn’t know how many more times he could stand to do it.

It wasn’t that the research was unpleasant.  Quite the opposite, and that was what troubled him.

The door of his office creaked open.  Dorian pulled his gaze up as Fenris strode in.  The elf had discarded his jagged metal gauntlets, but still wore the armored shirt and pants.  

Wordlessly, Fenris approached and offered Dorian a small glass vial.  Dorian lifted an eyebrow.

“ … Do I want to know whose blood that is?” he asked uneasily.

“Mine.”  Fenris kept his hand extended.  “Take it.”

“ … You don’t need to do that.  I promised I would leave you out of this.”

“You allowed your servants to participate, so you clearly believe that the process is safe.”  Fenris pressed the vial against Dorian’s chest.  “Take it.  I want your research to succeed.”

Dorian swallowed.  Gingerly, he took the vial from Fenris’ lyrium-lined hand.  _Magical research burned those lines into his skin._ Dorian sucked in a tense breath.  “Fenris – ”

“I trust you,” Fenris murmured.  He held Dorian’s gaze.  “You won’t hurt me like Danarius did.  I want to help you.”

Dorian’s hands tightened around the vial, warming the glass.  He exhaled heavily.  “ … If you are certain.”  He worried his lip between his teeth, turning the vial over in his hand and closing his eyes.  “Give me a moment.”

His magic reached into the vial.

_Power,_ thumped the blood.  Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the sweet hot flame of life that he could feel pumping inside the vial.   _Look deeper._ He had touched many blood samples in this way by now, and still he couldn’t be certain if there was a difference.  It was all so loud, so bright, so complex…

With his eyes still closed, Dorian reached towards his desk, where he knew the ten other vials sat.  He ghosted his fingertips over each one, feeling the smooth bump of the glass.  Each one burned with power.

_No.  Look deeper._

The blood in his hand was not simply blood.  It came from one man, one specific life force.  Dorian pursed his brow in concentration, squeezing the vial of Fenris’ blood.   _Deeper._ There was more to the blood than raw power, there was something else…

Dorian opened his eyes with a sudden lurch of breath.  His heart thumped as the room swam back into focus.  Fenris was peering at him in concern.

“ … Dorian?”

“I’m quite all right,” Dorian lied.  Swallowing, he extended his hand.  “If you are comfortable with it, skin-on-skin will make this easier.”

Fenris slipped his bare hand into Dorian’s, entwining their fingers.  Dorian closed his eyes again, letting out a long breath and sinking into his magic.  

The vial was a flame and Fenris was an inferno.  Dorian had to bite down a strangled noise of need as he tasted the power in the elf’s veins.  He still wasn’t used to this, pushing his magic into another person’s body and feeling around.  The sensation was hot, slippery, uncomfortably  _alive._ And the amount of power he could feel always jarred him.

_Look deeper._

It was more than power.  Somehow, too small for the eye to see, a single drop of Fenris’ blood was still  _Fenris._ If Dorian looked close enough, he had to see it.

_Deeper._

He could taste copper.  It was sweeter than any wine.

_More._

It wasn’t just blood.  It was a thumbprint.  It was a lock that Dorian could slip a key into – 

He could feel the click like manacles.

For one, flashing moment, the power was  _his._

Dorian lurched away from Fenris, throwing the elf’s hand out of his own and breathing hard.  His head was spinning, light and euphoric, his pulse racing.  The vial of blood slipped from his limp hand, falling to the carpeted floor with a _thunk._

Fenris stepped closer.  “What happened?  Are you all right?”

Dorian’s hand still tingled where it had been clasped with Fenris’.  He rubbed it over his face.  “ … I th-think that is enough research for one day.”

“Dorian… ”

“I’m fine,” Dorian lied for the second time.  His body felt hot, the rush still pounding in his veins.  It tingled like wine and arousal.  He let out a long breath.  “Research.  R-rigorous stuff, to be certain.”

Fenris’ frown deepened.  Dorian mustered up his best chipper smile.

“I think we both deserve a break.  You know what I haven’t done in a while?”

“Relaxed?” Fenris grunted.

“Drank heavily!”  Dorian brushed past Fenris and strode towards the door.  “Come on, I have too much wine in this house that never gets drunk.”

Dorian didn’t turn around, but he could hear Fenris follow him.  He strode away from the eleven vials of blood as swiftly as he could without breaking into a run.

Two words were burning in the back of his mind like a brand on a thief.

_Blood mage._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reform now has fanart! You can see it here, http://wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com/post/141492028747/reform-has-fanart-i-repeat-reform-has-fanart , alternatively we will be posting an art chapter once we finish the story completely! A huuuuge thank you to the amazing ginogollum for the beautiful picture, we both loved it and screamed a fair bit.


	12. Whip

Even in the depths of the wine cellar, the rumble of pounding rain could be faintly heard.The summer storm rumbled with thunder and soaked the plains outside.In the cozy safety of his work room, Dorian sipped at his second goblet of wine, leaning back in a thick wooden chair.The work table had been transformed into a wine stand, the legal research and old bill drafts now held down by dark, unopened bottles.... Mostly unopened.One already lay empty on its side, dripping crimson drops onto a scribbled page of legal citations.

“ ... It’s not technically blood magic,” Dorian insisted, speaking into his goblet of wine. 

Fenris snorted.An entire bottle sat in his lap where he sprawled in a wooden chair, the dark glass leaning against his thigh, his fingers loose around the neck. He had pulled his chair out from under the table to face Dorian, their knees almost bumping.“Does that comfort you?”

Dorian tipped the goblet back and finished it in three deep gulps.“No.”

Fenris held out the bottle in offering.Dorian extended his goblet, and Fenris refilled it to the brim.

“How is it not _technically_ blood magic?” Fenris asked.

Dorian huffed and drew his refilled drink to his chest.“Blood magic uses blood as fuel.I’m not doing that, I’m... I’m using magic to study blood.”

Fenris took a long swig from the bottle and gestured widely with it.“We’re still slitting throats for magical research.”

A sour laugh spilled past Dorian’s lips.“First I get myself a slave, then I start slashing a few throats for my personal gain.I’ll make myself into a proper Magister yet.”

Fenris chuckled.“Careful.You do that, and I’ll have to kill you.”

The alcohol was making Dorian’s mind dizzy and his tongue bold.He smiled.“Kill me?And waste a face this handsome?”

“A handsome Magister is still a Magister.”

“Oh, so you admit I’m handsome?”

“I -- I didn’t say that.”

“Now who’s making excuses?Out with it, am I handsome or not?”

Fenris chuckled again, his fingers tightening around the neck of the wine bottle.“Dorian, if you weren’t a Magister, I’d have you bent over this table by now.”

Dorian’s words caught in his throat, his smile dying and his heart skipping wildly.There was nothing teasing about the smirk on Fenris’ face, nothing _joking._ Dorian swallowed hard, his eyes flicking briefly to the thickly cut wooden table next to them before jumping back to Fenris. 

The lean lines of the elf’s toned arms, the lazy grip of his lyrium-lined fingers around the wine bottle in his lap, his grin...

“And here I am, un-bent,” Dorian lamented weakly, lifting his goblet to hide his red face.He took a deep gulp and lowered it, still flushed.“And they say being a Magister is all fun and games.”

“Do you think you’re the only one who’s pent up?” Fenris taunted.

“Trapped in my lavish mansion with a gorgeous elf who refuses to bend me over the nearest table... ”Dorian smirked, his heart racing and his head spinning, wine-slick words tumbling past his lips.“How could I not be?”

Fenris’ grin twitched.“Try being trapped in a lavish mansion with _you._ ”

“And just what does that mean?”

“It means you’re a _tease._ ”Fenris’ hand tightened around the wine bottle suddenly, a low growl slipping from his lips.“It means your bare arms are a torture.It means you don’t wear _nearly_ enough clothing when you wake up in the mornings and wander around the house.It means you’re sitting over there _smiling_ when you should be in my lap right now.”

Dorian’s legs were moving before he could fully process Fenris’ words.In a heartbeat, he was bracing his arms on Fenris’ chair, leaning close to the elf’s face.

“Is that so?” he breathed.

Fenris bared his teeth for just a moment before grabbing Dorian’s hips and yanking the man into his lap.Dorian stumbled and they nearly toppled the chair, but somehow he ended up straddling a pair of lean thighs, an abandoned wine bottle pressed uncomfortably against his groin, Fenris’ hungry mouth devouring his own.Dorian groaned, his hands finding the elf’s powerful shoulders, pinning him against the chair.Fenris was biting aggressively at his lips, his hands both locked over Dorian’s ass and _squeezing._ Dorian rolled his hips forward, breaking the kiss with a frustrated curse to remove the wine bottle between them and thump it onto the table.He dove back onto Fenris’ lips as the elf’s hand slipped down the back of his pants.

“Fuck -- ” Fenris gasped against Dorian’s lips, grabbing a soft handful of bare flesh and squeezing.

Dorian chuckled.“I know it’s impressive, but that doesn’t mean you need to stop kissing me.”

Fenris let out a frustrated growl in response and dragged Dorian by his hair into another kiss.Dorian groaned against the elf’s lips when he felt that hand squeeze again.He ground his hips down against Fenris’ lap, groaning into the elf’s mouth as he claimed it with his tongue.He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard, this desperate for a lover. 

Fenris’ hand squeezed one more time and slipped out of Dorian’s pants.Before Dorian could complain, the elf grabbed his hips and shoved him to his feet, following swiftly after.Dorian had time to gasp before he was thrown onto the wooden table on his back, scattering the paperwork, narrowly missing the wine bottles.Fenris’ mouth was back on his, body braced over his own, and Dorian’s eyes rolled as he felt the elf’s hips grind between his open legs.

“Mmmh -- ”Dorian wrapped his legs around Fenris’s waist, his head spinning.He teased one hand through Fenris’ pale hair, the other sliding down the elf’s back, pulling him close.Fenris was grinding against him in hungry thrusts, his arousal pressed hard against Dorian’s own through their pants.Abandoned paperwork crinkled under Dorian’s back.Fenris dragged his mouth off of Dorian’s and dove onto his neck, sucking a hungry kiss against the bare skin before _biting._

“Aah -- ”Dorian’s hips jerked and he gasped at the sharp press of teeth.Fenris growled against his neck, digging his teeth in hard enough to sting.Dorian groaned and rolled his head to the side, dragging Fenris in by his hair.“Yes, yes _, harder_ \-- ”

The next possessive bite had Dorian’s hips rolling in need.He could feel parchment against his cheek, feel Fenris’ hands wandering under his robes as the elf bit down his neck.

The wine cellar spun, heavily assisted by the alcohol in Dorian’s veins.Dorian stared across his own paperwork and panted.Fenris’ desperate hands found his pants, starting to undo them, and Dorian’s gaze settled on a single word on the parchments.

_Slave._

Fenris bit Dorian’s ear, letting out a low noise of need.Dorian swallowed hard, shutting his eyes against the word, but he knew it was written on every sheet of parchment on the table.

_Concerning The Treatment Of Slaves In the Tevinter Imperium._

He’d written that himself.

_I know what I want your next law to be,_ Fenris’ voice rumbled in his memory.

“ ... Fuck... ”Dorian groaned as Fenris’ tongue dragged up his neck.Summoning up all of his willpower, he pressed a firm hand against Fenris’ shoulder.“Fenris -- Fenris, stop.”

Fenris pulled back, going still.He stared at Dorian for a moment, then barked a curse and shoved himself away.He stormed across the room like a caged animal, pacing the floor and rubbing a hand through his hair.“ _Shit.”_

Dorian sat up on the table, his head still reeling from the wine, still rigid in his pants.His entire body felt hot, but his stomach was twisting.“I -- I’m sorry.I shouldn’t have started that.”

Fenris cursed again and paced angrily past the table, grabbing the bottle of wine as he passed.He hugged it against his chest for a moment, glaring at the wall like he was trying to burn a hole it it, before taking a long sip.Dorian’s eyes wandered to his own goblet, abandoned on the wooden table.He picked it up numbly and downed the contents like water.

Sulking, Fenris stalked back to his chair and flopped down on it.Realizing where he was, Dorian slid off the table and did the same.The room spun, but it wasn’t enough to erase the memory of Fenris’ hands and breath and lips on his body.

“ ... I loved Danarius, you know.”

The words prickled against Dorian’s spine.His gaze darted up.Fenris was staring into his bottle of wine with a mixture of hate and wistfulness, the rage replaced by something weary.

“I was terrified of him,” Fenris continued, “but I loved him more than anything.I would have done anything for him.It wasn’t until after I escaped that I could see what he was, and the hate was able to grow.”

Dorian’s fingers tightened on his goblet.“I never want to be that for you.I never want you to feel like you have to -- ”

“Don’t.Don’t compare yourself to him.You are nothing like him.”Fenris heaved a troubled sigh, leaning heavily against the table and dropping his gaze.“It’s... it’s me.I can’t tell if I actually like you or... or if I _have_ to like someone who puts a collar on me.”

The words burned.Dorian tore his eyes away from the lean lines of Fenris’ arms, the guilty memory of pinning the elf to his chair.“ ... I’m so sorry.It won’t happen again.”

Fenris stared into the bottle of wine.“Maybe I want it to happen again.”

“Well, maybe I don’t.”

Silence fell over the room.Dorian lifted his goblet and drained the remains, barely tasting the wine as it went down.He shoved the empty cup away and reached for a new bottle of wine without looking at either Fenris or the impending cause of tomorrow’s hangover as he uncorked it.

“ ... So what’s your excuse?” Fenris asked.

“Excuse me?”

Fenris grunted, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a sip.“You already know why I’m reluctant.But I’m not the one who stopped us, not either time.So I ask, what’s your excuse?”

Dorian’s hands tightened on the neck of the bottle.He took a deep breath before replying.“Do you know what it means to prefer your own sex in Tevinter?”

“You fuck your slaves,” Fenris replied bluntly.

“Tradition must be honored,” Dorian agreed bitterly.He drank more wine, letting out a long, sour sigh.“When Magister parents learn that their sweet little boy or girl would rather be chasing around other sweet little boys or girls, they have a _talk._ ‘It’s fine to be gay,’ the parents say to their child.‘But you still must marry and have children.If you want anything more, get it from your slaves.’”

_Why haven’t you used your slave yet?_

Fenris was silent.Dorian took another sip, wondering if the bottom of the bottle held a cure for the pounding terror in his chest. _He’ll hate you.He should._

“My first sexual experience was with a slave,” Dorian blurted.

Fenris stiffened.Dorian shuddered, closing his eyes and breathing against the rim of the wine bottle.

“ ... I was young,” he murmured under his wine-stained breath, as if that excused it.“He was pretty.He seemed so _interested,_ so _forward,_ the first time another man had made himself available to me, and I... it didn’t occur to me that he was anything other than willing.”

Not a word from Fenris.Dorian opened his eyes, staring down into the dark liquid that filled the bottle.No courage down there, just dizziness and regret.

“ ... I thank the Maker that I never took things very far,” Dorian mumbled, “before I realized that my father had put him up to it.”

_Why haven’t you used your slave yet, Dorian?It’s all right, that’s what he’s there for.You need to get used to this._

“How young were you?” Fenris asked sharply.

Dorian swallowed, shaking his head to drive the memories away.“ ... Sixteen, I think.”

“Did it ever happen again, once you realized?”

“No.” 

Fenris let out a tense breath.“ ... Swear to me that you thought he was willing.”

“I never -- I had no _idea -- ”_ Dorian swallowed hard, shutting his eyes.“ ... I swear on my life, I thought he was willing.” 

The wine bottle was warming in his hand.Dorian pushed it away, letting it shimmer alone in the torchlight without his fingers wrapped around it. 

“ ... That’s why I can’t,” Dorian murmured, not looking at Fenris.“I know you’re not my slave, Fenris, not truly.But I can’t.When I returned to the Imperium, I promised myself that I would never be that kind of Magister.”He huffed out a deep sign, burying his face in his hand.“I can only imagine what you must think of me.”

Fenris stared at the bottle of wine in his hand.“ ... The fault was your father’s,” he said at last.

“It often is,” Dorian replied automatically.He lifted his face from his hand, blinking.“ ... Are we going to simply gloss over the sins of my past?I’ll feel like such a fool for all this self-loathing if we do.”

Fenris held out his bottle of wine in offering.Skeptical, Dorian took it.He sipped it slowly, trying not to gulp it down.

“You’re expecting me to hate you,” Fenris said flatly.“I don’t.”

“Just as well, because hating someone as wonderful as me takes a dreadful amount of work.”Dorian smiled bitterly, lifting the bottle in toast.“Thankfully, I’m up to the task.”

“You’re wallowing,” Fenris scolded.He snatched the wine bottle back. 

Dorian huffed.“Am I?How unbecoming that must appear.”

“Do I have to tell you again?”Fenris thumped the wine bottle down hard on the table.“Do not compare yourself to Danarius.You are _nothing_ like him.”Wobbling, Fenris pulled himself off the wooden chair, bracing one arm on the table for support.“You’re -- you’re trying to _change_ things, Dorian.You’re good and you’re _trying_ and I never thought it was possible to fix the world with anything other than a blade and headless slavers, but you -- ”Fenris swallowed.A flush had crept onto his face.“ ... You’re what a Magister should be, if Magisters must exist.”

Dorian frowned.He leaned back and crossed his arms.“You are _dreadfully_ drunk.”

“ _You’re_ dreadfully drunk,” Fenris shot back hotly.Wobbling, he flopped back down in his seat.

Dorian’s spinning gaze settled on Fenris’ stern glare, on the stubborn set of his jaw.A weak smile came to his face.“ ... Did you really mean all that?About me being ‘good?’”

Fenris’ cheeks darkened, but his glare didn’t change.Dorian swallowed and reached for the bottle of wine before something like emotion could slip past his lips.He held the words back with the smooth glass rim of the bottle, gulping down another sharp, fruity sip.

Fenris chuckled.Dorian lowered the bottle with a sharp glare.Fenris’ snicker grew into a laugh, low and drunk and quickly getting louder as Dorian watched with a raised eyebrow.Before long, Fenris was bracing his elbow against the table and looking like he would collapse to the floor without the support.

“ ... Did I say something funny?” Dorian asked slowly.

“I -- I was remembering the last time I got a Magister drunk,” Fenris gasped between laughter.

Dorian cringed, his nose wrinkling at the mention of Arida.“That was _funny_ to you?”

“I pissed on his carpet while he was asleep!”Fenris was nearly falling out of his chair with laugher.“He woke up and thought _he_ had done it!”

Dorian almost dropped the bottle of wine.He slammed it down on the table.“You did _what_?”

“Dorian.”Fenris lurched out of his chair and grabbed the front of Dorian’s shirt, grinning.“Dorian, I should have pissed on his bed.”

Dorian grabbed Fenris’ shirt.“Fenris, you should have pissed on _him._ ”

Fenris’ legs nearly gave out and he gripped Dorian’s chair for support as the laughter spilled out of him.In spite of everything, Dorian couldn’t keep a smile off his face.

“We... we are too drunk,” Fenris managed at last, still chuckling.

Dorian sighed, pulling himself to his wobbling feet and holding on to Fenris for support.“Come on, let’s... let’s get to bed.We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Careful.”Fenris still wore a drunk grin.“I’ll piss on your bed.”

“You will do no such thing,” Dorian shot back.He shot Fenris a glare before turning sharply on his heel and nearly falling off his feet.

The stairs that carried them up from the wine cellar proved a hassle, but through a tangle of each other’s arms and unsteady steps, they managed.The roar of the storm grew louder with each step as they left the warm cellar behind and ascended to ground level.By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Fenris’ arm slung over Dorian’s shoulder, the pounding rain and grumbling thunder were loud enough to drown out words.

Dorian struggled to support Fenris while locking the door.The elf seemed to be trying to let Dorian support his full weight.“Did you say something?I can’t hear you.”

Fenris mumbled something into Dorian’s neck.Dorian cursed under his breath, his hands faltering for a moment at the warm touch of breath.

“Fenris, I can’t hear you -- ”

Fenris’ lips brushed Dorian’s cheek.This time, Dorian could feel the word he mouthed, a breath of wine-scented warmth against the chill of the storm.

“ _Goodnight.”_


	13. Ad Hominem

An ache like pounding hammers in his skull dragged Dorian out of quiet sleep.He groaned into his pillow, burying his face to hide from the rainy grey dawn.He could feel the uncomfortable twist of clothes on his body -- he must have been too drunk to disrobe before falling asleep last night -- and a hangover like thunder plagued him.He briefly clung to hopes of falling asleep again, but the dour sunlight and headache wouldn’t let him.

Dorian grumbled unhappily into his pillow, wrapping his arms around it and hugging it against his face.The patterned silk was smooth against his cheek. 

... This was not the pillow he slept on.Dorian’s bed was trimmed with velvet.With a confused grunt, Dorian pulled his sleepy face out of the pillow to glare at it.The silk was rich, forest green, patterned like leaves.Dorian frowned, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

This wasn’t his pillow and this wasn’t his bed. 

A loud snore from beside him nearly made Dorian fall off the mattress.

Fenris lay with his face face half-buried in a deep purple pillow, limp with sleep and snoring.He was just as clothed as Dorian was, clad in the same armored shirt and leather pants that Varric had sent yesterday.Dorian blinked at the elf, suddenly wide awake.Memories from the previous night drifted back to him.

_“Dorian._ ”

They had staggered to Fenris’ room together.Dorian’s drunk mind had been fixated on walking Fenris to a comfortable sleeping place, making sure he didn’t pass out on the floor.He wasn’t ready for the soft hand against his face, the warmth of the man’s smile.

_“Dorian, I’m not going to be a slave forever.”_

_“Oh, hush, you’re not even a slave now.”_

He’d helped Fenris get into bed, but the world had wobbled and Dorian had ended up on the bed too.Fenris never stopped smiling at him.

_“I’m not going to be a slave forever,”_ he’d repeated.His fingers were tangled loosely with Dorian’s as he stared up at the man. _“You said the Inq-- inqisi-- she’ll help us.I’ll be free soon.And so will you.”_

_“Fenris, what do you...?”_

Fenris was snoring before Dorian could finish his question.Dorian’s short-lived efforts to wake the elf had ended when he fell asleep himself.

Now, with morning light streaming through the windows and the drink gone from his mind, Fenris’ words tickled at the back of Dorian’s mind.He didn’t dare to wonder what they meant.

Fenris muffled an unhappy grunt into his pillow, stirring.He lifted his head, his white hair sticking up at odd angles, blinking at Dorian. 

Dorian gave him a sheepish smile.“Let’s never drink again,” he suggested cheerfully.

Fenris blinked owlishly, then gave him a pained smile.“Heh.Your hair is a mess.”

In horror, Dorian’s fingers shot to his head.His hair was sleep-tousled and spiked, far from the immaculate order he always groomed it to.

“And your mustache is crooked,” Fenris added with a sleepy chuckle, nuzzling back into his pillow.

Dorian spat a curse and rushed to the nearest mirror.He winced at the damage.Gingerly, he began brushing at the mess with his fingers, trying to push it back into some semblance of order.

“I vote we spend the day in bed,” Fenris grumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Dorian’s eyes widened in the mirror.He spun.“Vote!Fenris, the vote is tomorrow!”

With a wince, Fenris dragged a pillow over his head.“Ugh, don’t shout... ”

Leaning over the bed, Dorian clapped sharply.“Up, up!We have things to do!We need to look the bill over one more time, distribute it to the rest of the Magisterium -- ”

With a snarl, Fenris dragged the pillow off his face to glare up at Dorian.“Vishante kaffas, how are you not hungover?”

“I -- ”A flush of self-consciousness rose to Dorian’s cheeks.He coughed into his hand.“ ... I am quite hungover.However, ah... I am accustomed to hiding it.”

For a moment, Fenris stared at him blankly.With a groan, the elf dragged himself upright, swinging his legs off the bed.

“Dorian,” he grumbled sleepily, “get back in bed, you stubborn fool,”

Dorian frowned.“The vote is _tomorrow,_ I can’t be lounging in bed.”

“Dorian.”Fenris dragged himself to his feet.“You work too hard.Come back to bed.”

“There’s still much to be done -- ”

Fenris’s hands closed over Dorian’s upper arms, dragging him close.“Come back,” he whispered, “to bed.”

Dorian’s heart skipped.For a moment, breathing was all he could manage.Fenris’ grip held him in place, and the softness of the mattress beckoned. 

Fenris swallowed.“Dorian...?”

“Y-yes?”

“I think -- I think I am about to vomit.”

“Fasta v-- ”Dorian grabbed Fenris by the arm and wrenched him across the room.“Do it in the wastebasket!”

\----

The hard, parched soil of the Valerian Plains had thirstily soaked up the night’s rain.The thunderous downpour of the storm had died down, but a grey sky still hung low over the plains, choking out the morning sun and dripping forlornly. 

Dorian wore a dark cowl to keep off the worst of the drizzle as he galloped across the plains astride Frostback.The horse’s heavy hooves kicked up clumps of grass and mud, his white coat painted silver in the rain.Dorian blinked against the raindrops that stung his face. 

Dorian had coaxed Fenris back into bed, leaving the elf to sleep off his hangover.He would have liked to bring Fenris along for this stage of the process, but he could not afford to wait. 

A leather saddlebag hung by Dorian’s thigh, sealed tight against the elements to protect the final draft of his bill.

_I hear you’ve got some big legislative showdown coming up.  Good luck with that.Andraste knows you’ll need it._

Dorian frowned as he rode.By official protocol, a new bill must be displayed in the Magisterium for all to read and consider for a full day before it was voted on.Dorian doubted that any Magisters would change their minds -- he would be impressed if the entire Magisterum actually read his bill -- but rules were rules.The charade must be danced.

Tomorrow, he would find out if he had greased enough palms, earned enough allies.Dorian huffed out a tense breath and nipped his heels into Frostback’s side, urging the horse into greater speed.

He had to pass this bill.For the sake of the Imperium, for the sake of slaves, for the sake of his own faith in his homeland, and... 

_You’re good and you’re trying and I never thought it was possible to fix the world with anything other than a blade and headless slavers, but you..._

Dorian would do anything to be the man Fenris seemed to think he was.

\----

As morning bloomed into midday, the clouds receded and the sky slowly brightened.

Dorian left two copies of his bill with the clerks inside the looming Magisterium complex.When he stepped outside again, his pockets one bill’s-worth of parchment lighter, the rain had stopped.

Dorian wandered through Minrathous astride Frostback as sunlight began to glint in the puddles and wet mosaics.He eyed lavish shops as he passed.A winery... did he dare purchase a celebratory bottle?His intuition and hangover both said “no.”But perhaps something else.For better or for worse, at least he would be spending no more nights pouring over his damn bill.He deserved a small reward for that, surely.

A glint of gold caught his eye.Dorian eased Frostback to a halt in front of a storefront that boasted candlesticks, portraits, carpets... and a fine and fragile collection of vases _._

Dorian’s mood brightened along with the sky.

\----

Frostback trotted up the path to Dorian’s mansion, his wide hooves thumping softly against the wet grass.Dorian couldn’t keep a smile off his face as wind gusted across the plains, the sun now lancing down through scattered clouds.He ought to be nervous, but something in the air had him in high spirits.Maybe it was the fact that his hangover was finally gone.Maybe it was the thought of showing Fenris the hideous and smashable vase he had just purchased.

Maybe it was the memory of the elf’s smile last night, the way his lips had felt.

The jagged architecture of the mansion loomed before him, stone shimmering in the sun, as Frostback carried Dorian across the plains.As they approached the heavy gates, they swung open.Frostback trotted through the archway, and Dorian hummed to himself and let the reins slip from his hands as a servant rushed to his side.She took Frostback’s reins quickly, panting.

“Magister Pavus!” 

Dorian snorted and dismounted, his boots thumping into the dust.“Irene, for the last time.You can call me Dorian.”He opened his saddlebag and pulled out the expensive vase.The dreadful thing looked even more garish in the sunlight, lavish gold swirls surrounding hideous renditions of famous Magisters.Dorian hoped his face never ended up on a vase.

“Dorian, someone’s broken in!”

Dorian froze.His gaze snapped up to the panting woman.It was only then that he realized how pale her face was, the way her hands shook on Frostback’s reins.

The vase slipped from his hands, thumping softly into the grass at his feet.Dorian strode to the woman’s side quickly, leaving the vase in the dust.

“Is anyone hurt?”

“N-no.”Irene clutched the reins to her chest.“The staff are all fine, the guards never even saw them sneak in -- ”

“Do you know what they were after?”

“They -- ”Irene turned her face away.“I’m sorry, we couldn’t stop them -- ”

“It’s not your job to stop them,” Dorian cut off.“You’re housekeepers, not guards.What did they take?”

Irene bit her lip, shaking her head wordlessly.She looked ready to burst into tears.A chill like southern frost was settling into Dorian’s chest.He didn’t even realize he was running until the front doors of the mansion were bursting open against his hands, the sunny courtyard left behind.

The rooms of his estate blurred past. _Just be there.Please just be there --_

Dorian flung open the door to his childhood bedroom with his heart in his throat.

Fenris was gone.The bedsheets were kicked back, tangled, and the pillow where Fenris had slept was impaled with a knife.The blade shimmered dully, pinning a sheet of parchment to the torn silk.Dorian knew his heart was racing, but each aching beat felt like it dragged through syrup.

_Thump.Thump.Thump._

Dorian’s legs trembled as if they belonged to someone else.He approached the bed one dizzy step at a time.Wind gusted through the open window, making the parchment shiver.Not breathing, Dorian wrapped his hand around the knife and slid it free, freeing the ransom note from the blade.

The words were written in a neat, curving script.

_I’ve got your bunny, dear Dorian._

_Don’t worry, you can have him back soon.I’ve given you a key.When it glows, come to the catacombs beneath the city.There is a map on the back of the note.Come exactly when instructed, and come alone.Do all I ask, and you’ll find your bunny alive and well.I’ll be generous -- he’ll even be untouched._

_Well, mostly untouched.I’m a man, not a saint._

The parchment slipped from Dorian’s numb hands.His heart thumped in his ears as the note drifted through the air and fell softly to the carpeted floor at his feet.

_Thump.Thump.Thump._


	14. Filibuster

Dorian stood in the vast marble complex of the Magisterium and seethed. 

The massive hexagonal room was old, half political center and half temple, all black marble veined with gold.The high ceiling crawled with vast mosaics of dark, twisting snakes.Around each massive pillar curled a shining black dragon, the old gods staring down on the assembled Magisters.Dorian knew from his historical study that the plush chairs and gold leaf were new, but the black stone underneath had been there for centuries.

Tevinter lived in the past, and plated it with gold to make it shine.

All around Dorian, Magisters prowled and murmured among themselves, decked in ornately vicious robes and fake smiles.Even the Archon himself was present.Dorian could see papers being passed from hand to hand, slid across marble tables: copies of his bill.Each murmur echoed and distorted in the imposing chamber, words blurred into a shapeless hiss as if the mosaic snakes overhead were joining the deliberations.

Soon, all the assembled Magisters would vote on whether to pass the bill into law.Dorian’s sharp gaze jumped from face to face.Few Magisters seemed keen to meet his eye, flinching away from the fire in his gaze.Or perhaps they were simply unnerved by the way he was armed.Many mages in Tevinter carried a staff with them, but not many carried a sword as well.

Dorian was taking no chances.More likely than not, someone in this room knew where Fenris was.The memory of an empty bed made sparks boil at Dorian’s fingertips.He itched to feel a weapon in his hands.A darker part of him itched to start dropping bodies until Fenris was returned to him.

It wouldn’t be the first time those twisting black dragons had witnessed blood pooling on the marble floor.

“You seem tense,” Aurelian’s voice murmured.

Dorian went rigid, clenching his fists to hide the flashes of lightning.He turned around slowly.Aurelian lifted the goblet of wine in his hand and took a sip, his dark eyes meeting Dorian’s evenly.

“Do you go _anywhere_ without wine?” Dorian snapped.

The man smiled, raising his goblet and speaking lowly.“Why would I?Wine makes everything better.”He extended the drink in offering.“Perhaps you should have some, to calm your nerves.”

Dorian swallowed.His heart was thumping so loudly he feared Aurelian would hear it.He searched the man’s face for some hint, some tick.“Generous of you,” he managed, “but I would like to stay sober for the vote.”

“Aaah, yes, the vote.”Aurelian cast his dark eyes over the assembled Magisters.“I hear the numbers are on your side.Quite impressive!It makes me wonder what you offered them.”

Dorian’s jaw twitched.“I offered them a stronger Imperium.It seems they were interested.”

“So you say.”Aurelian hummed into his wine thoughtfully.“I have to wonder... if you were absent for the vote _,_ would your new allies still favor you?Or would they begin to doubt your ability to... deliver on your promises?”

Dorian’s heart skipped.Something wrong was tickling down his spine.“ ... I have no intention of being absent for the vote of my own bill, Magister,” he murmured.“What gives you such a notion?” 

“Mm.”Aurelian took a languid sip of wine as his gaze slid down Dorian’s body.“Look in your pocket.”

Dorian stopped breathing.Numbly, he reached into his pocket, his hand closing around the iron key.He was frightened to look, but he dragged his eyes down as he slipped it out of his pocket.

The key glowed blood red in his palm, pulsing softly.

“You might want to leave now,” Aurelian whispered.“Who knows what will happen to your _elf_ if you take too long.”

Dorian’s hand clenched into a fist around the key.Frost magic shot down his arm and pooled in his palm until the key was frozen solid and a misty chill dripped from his knuckles.He ground out three words under his breath. 

“Where.Is.He.”

“How should I know where the map on the back of the ransom letter leads you?” Aurelian asked innocently.

Before Dorian could reply, a burst of magical fire thundered up towards the mosaic ceiling, drawing all eyes upwards as flames flashed in the golden eyes of the dragons.Quiet fell over the hall as the Archon’s voice filled the room, magically amplified.

“If everyone will take your seats, we will begin the voting.”

Cursing under his breath, Dorian stuffed the key back into his pocket.“If you’ve hurt him, Aurelian -- ”

Aurelian chuckled softly.“Why don’t you see for yourself?Don’t dawdle, now.”

Magisters were moving towards their seats.Dorian let out a strained snarl and spun away from Aurelian’s smile, striding through the crowd toward the doors.

Try as he might, he couldn’t stop imagining all the things that a powerful mage might do to the slave of an enemy.

Dorian nearly made it to the heavy wooden doors when five feet of angry Magister suddenly blocked his way.Dorian halted in the face of Magister Viator’s scowl.

“Where are you going?” she asked sharply.

Dorian clenched his fists.“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Magister Viator stepped close and craned her neck back to snarl in Dorian’s face.“If you leave,” she hissed, “your bill will not survive.There are too many clever tongues who wish to see it die.If you are not here to rally the support of your allies -- ”

“I will be back _as soon as I can,_ ” Dorian repeated through his teeth.“Stall the vote.”

“No.”Viator remained as unmoving as a stone wall.“I have advocated for this bill.Do not jeopardize it.”

“I _need_ to leave.”Dorian bit his tongue, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper.“Someone -- someone very important to me is in danger.Yes, it’s a ploy to make me miss the vote, but that doesn’t mean I have a choice.You are a magnificent terror, Magister Viator, a magnificent bloody terror, and I need you to make use of that for me today. _Stall.The.Vote._ Freeze them to their seats if you must. _”_

Unflinching, Magister Viator narrowed her eyes.After an agonizing pause, she gave him a small, curt nod.“Do not make me stall them for long, Dorian Pavus.”

Dorian let out a relieved breath.“I owe you a great debt.”

“Yes, you do.”Like the receding tide, Magister Viator stepped out of Dorian’s way.“Go save your loved one.I expect you not to die in the process.”

Dorian was out the doors before he had taken his next breath.

\----

Air hung stale and still in the catacombs.Each breath dragged the ancient taste of dust and history into the lungs.Dorian kept his staff clutched tightly in his hand as he walked through the high, narrow tunnels, through the dust of eons, past worn statues of ancient Magisters and Archons and dragon gods.The stone down here was flecked black and grey, all bare.There was no gold leaf in the catacombs, no jewels.In places, aged bones were set into walls or clutched in the stone hands of statues, the only ornamentation.

This was the Tevinter of old, Dorian knew as he walked softly past, trying not to make a sound, hearing each breath echo off the silent walls.This was the Tevinter that had wrapped its claws around the world’s throat and brought Thedas to its knees.Rigid and hungry, steeped in power and death. 

The only illumination was a plume of veilfire in his hand, flickering eerily against the cobwebs and forgotten carvings.The tunnels wormed beneath Minrathous like an ant nest, yawning passageways ever branching into the gloom.At every split, Dorian consulted his map again, holding the veilfire close to examine the delicate ink lines.He lit empty torches as he went to mark his way back, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to rely on them.If he became lost down here, he would be dead just as surely as any assassination.The catacombs would have another set of bones.

Distantly, Dorian wondered if Aurelian was lying about Fenris.The elf might not be in the catacombs.He might not even be alive.Dorian clenched his jaw against the thought.No, Fenris must be alive.Aurelian would not waste such a valuable slave.

That didn’t mean Fenris was unharmed, though.

_Well, mostly untouched.I’m a man, not a saint._

Dorian quickened his pace through the catacombs, veilfire flickering in his hand.

\----

The tunnels branched until Dorian lost track.He gripped the map like a lifeline, eyes darting to each dancing shadow as he walked.As far as anyone knew, the catacombs were barely entered, silent and dead.The thought was little comfort down here, where each shadow seemed to grow claws and reach for him.

Dead did not mean silent.Any necromancer knew that.Dorian’s feet brushed through the dust, his breath the only sound as he walked.

A sudden, familiar voice nearly made his heart stop.

“Dorian!”

Dorian spun, heart pounding against his ribs, scared to breathe.The voice had come from a narrow tunnel to his left.Dorian took a shaky step closer, extending the veilfire in his hand to illuminate the tunnel. 

A short distance down the tunnel was an ornate iron grate, walling off the passage.As if in answer to Dorian’s prayers, Fenris stood on the other side of the grate, gripping the bars and _alive._

Dorian raced to Fenris’ side with such urgency that he had to slam his hands against the iron grate to halt himself.Fenris’ fingers wrapped around his own, pressing between the bars, desperate to touch him.The elf was wide-eyed, trapped behind the grate, but he looked unharmed. 

A relieved sob slipped past Dorian’s lips and he let his forehead thump against the ironwork.“V-vishante kaffas, I thought... ”

Fenris reached through the bars, cupping Dorian’s face and lifting it.“I’m fine,” he promised, meeting Dorian’s eyes, “but you must be careful.Aurelian put me here.This is a trap.”

“Y-yes, obviously a trap,” Dorian agreed.He wanted more than anything to rip the iron bars away, but there was no gate, no means of moving past them.He would have to find another way in.He swallowed, not ready to leave, to stop soaking in the impossible sight of Fenris’ face. 

The elf still wore his reinforced leather under-armor. _Good,_ Dorian thought reflexively. _No one has removed his clothes.Probably._ It burned that he couldn’t know for sure.He realized after a moment that there was an addition to Fenris’ outfit: a collar around his neck, and not the one he normally wore.This one was wine-red, pulled too tight, glittering with golden runes.It must have a magical lock, or else Fenris would have removed it.Dorian reached for the gold-stamped leather, pressing his fingers through the bars, then yanked his hand back.For all he knew, a touch of incorrect magic would cause the collar to self-destruct.He swallowed and brushed his fingers instead against Fenris’ face.

“Did -- ”He was scared to ask.“Fenris, did he hurt you?”

Fenris’ gaze was steady.“I told you, I’m fine.He hasn’t touched me.”He let out a tense breath.“ ... You’re missing the vote right now, aren’t you?”

“No.”Dorian’s face hardened.“I’ve stalled the vote.I’m going to get you out of here and then you and I are going to witness a shift in Tevinter law.Is there another way in?”

“Through the back,” Fenris replied quickly.He glanced over his shoulder.The tunnel behind him was short, creating a small arched chamber with a single wooden door against the back wall.“The door is locked, though -- ”

“Quite all right, I have the key.I hope.”Dorian swallowed, still gripping Fenris through the iron bars.A weak laugh spilled out of him, fear and relief.“I w-wish I could kiss you,” he confessed.

Fenris’ hands tightened around Dorian's, pressing them against the wrought iron.He leaned his forehead against the grate, separated from Dorian by a scant inch of metal.“When you get me out of here,” Fenris vowed, “I’ll kiss you breathless.”

Dorian reached through the bars and touched two fingers to Fenris’ mouth, swallowing hard.Holding eye contact, Fenris pressed a soft kiss to the digits.Dorian had to shut his eyes so he could drag himself away from the grate.The sight of Fenris would have rooted his feet to the floor. 

As he walked away, he couldn’t resist a last look over his shoulder.“I’ll find the way in.You... you keep yourself alive.”

Fenris leaned against the iron grate.“You’re the one he’s trying to kill.Don’t you _dare_ die out there.”

“For you, _amatus,_ ” Dorian promised.He turned and ran down the tunnel, through the catacombs.


	15. Brinkmanship

Dorian followed the map as he traveled deeper into the labyrinth of catacombs.The tunnel had become suffocatingly narrow, walls nearly brushing his arms as he strode down the ancient passage.Skulls of carved stone and human bone alike grinned down from the eerily high ceiling.Despite the close quarters and thick shadows, Dorian kept his pace quick, his caution set aside.

He could still remember the soft heat of Fenris’ hand against his cheek.He didn’t know how much longer Fenris would be safe and alive in that cell, but Aurelian’s words haunted him.

_Who knows what will happen to your elf if you take too long._

The air crackled as Dorian rounded another corner, his footsteps changing from a clacking staccato to a sudden _splash_ that echoed through a vast chamber.Dorian swallowed, stepping back for a moment and trying to make out his surroundings in the blackness.There were puddles of water under his feet, he could see that much, but the veilfire in his hand couldn’t touch the yawning void of the chamber, a veritable ballroom of the catacombs.

Dorian hovered uncertainly at the mouth of the narrow tunnel.He could see glints from his veilfire reflecting off the polished floor... no, not a polished floor.It was water, a still pool that stretched into the shadow, glossy and black.The stone floor sloped down until the edge of the dark water swallowed it up.Dorian consulted his map one more time before shoving it into his pocket.This was the way forward.This was the only way to reach Fenris.

Gingerly, Dorian stepped into the vast room, lifting the veilfire in his hand to illuminate the walls.Dark silhouettes loomed up out of the water, dragons and mages that stood as tall as spires, some standing upon soggy piles of human skeletons.The still water stretched from wall to distant stone wall, with Dorian’s feet resting on the only dry land.Dorian cast his eyes down nervously, his footsteps stopping at the water’s edge. 

“A-and like a fool I’ve neglected to bring my swimwear,” he lamented softly.His voice carried eerily across the water, and Dorian resolved not to speak again.

The water was black and still.Dorian wondered how deep it was, and what was down there.With a resolved breath, he took his first step into the shallow water, a small splash greeting his foot, ripples stretching out.They shimmered off into the darkness, silver rings on the still surface.Dorian steeled himself and began to stride into the pool, uncomfortably aware of each splash.Wetness quickly seeped into the seams of his boots and dampened his feet.He winced as the water slowly rose from his ankles to mid-calf, the shore disappearing behind him. 

The first sickening crunch under his boot had him freezing in place.Something compact and brittle had snapped under his weight.Feeling queasy, Dorian lifted his foot and took another step.Another sickening crunch followed.With his jaw tensely set, Dorian continued to stride into the shallow pool, each step crunching against human bone under the water.

He hadn’t felt this damp and unsettled since the Inquisitor had dragged him through fetid swamps in search of dragons and undead.He was unsure if it was the memory that conjured the sticky ozone smell of lightening in the air, the hair on his arms prickling. Dorian’s breathing was shallow, his eyes scanning around the room before spurring himself onwards. Fenris was somewhere down here, and it wouldn’t do to leave him waiting for the reasoning of wet feet and a _bad feeling._

The chamber was still.The only noise was the wet splash of Dorian’s steps, the drowned crunch of submerged bones under his feet.The water rose to his calves, but no deeper.Dorian’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow as he gingerly strode through the silent chamber.His eyes dragged up the length of great stone dragon, narrow and looming, tall as a watchtower.A pile of bones was its hoard, nearly crushed beneath the weight of the stone.Dorian’s veilfire flickered coldly against wet ribs and ancient stone, and he tore his eyes away with a gulp.

The statues surrounded him like a forest.The only sound was his breathing and the splash of his steps.Inhale.Exhale.Splash.Dorian lifted his veilfire, trying to see the far end of the chamber, pining for cramped, dry tunnels.Nothing but blackness and tall, motionless statues.Inhale.Exhale.Splash.Exhale.

Dorian’s breath froze in his lungs.Ripples from his last steps glinted in the light from his veilfire.His heart thumped loudly in his ears as he listened.

Inhale.Exhale.

That wasn’t him breathing.

A lone bead of sweat trickled down Dorian’s neck.  Low, hungry breath was coming from somewhere to his left, the soft, patient exhales of an ambush predator.Dorian’s frantic eyes scanned the darkness, but there was nothing.Only still water and the tall, towering statues of dragons and mages and... 

Dorian’s stomach flipped.One of the looming pillars was neither old god nor Archon.  The shape was uncomfortably familiar, crusted with great twisting horns, and it bore seven eyes that glinted in the veilfire.

The color drained from Dorian’s face as he stared up at the Pride Demon.The Pride Demon stared back.

**“Magister Dorian Pavus.I have been waiting for you.”**

Dorian’s heart pounded.He licked his dry lips, trying to summon some bravery into his cracking voice.“Unless y-you mean to make small talk, save your breath, demon.I’ve no interest in striking a deal.”

The Pride Demon’s lipless mouth didn’t move, but a slow laugh seeped between the rows of needle teeth. **“Oh no, certainly not.Dorian Pavus does not deal with demons.He does not thirst for power.”**

“Exactly,” Dorian scoffed.He swallowed hard, taking a tentative step.“Now if you don’t mind -- ”

**“So why would I, an intelligent creature, try to bribe Dorian Pavus with the very thing he most fears?”** Another low chuckle spilled from the demon’s powerful jaws. **“Temptation.”**

Dorian inched slowly to the side, his eyes darting towards the distant side of the chamber.Perhaps he could make a run for the door...“Do go on,” he urged.

**“The mage who summoned and bound me to this room is familiar to you.He smells like blood and wine.”** With one lumbering step that splashed in the water and crunched through bones, the Pride Demon cut off Dorian’s escape. **“My purpose is to kill you.”**

Ripples from the Pride Demon’s movement splashed against Dorian’s legs.He slowly drew his staff from his back.“Let’s be at it, then.”

**“ ... Or perhaps I did not see you.”** The Pride Demon tilted its great horned head, as if staring off into the distance. **“Perhaps you... snuck past me.”**

“ ... What are you offering me?”

**“Something that cannot corrupt.”** The Pride Demon’s seven eyes turned to him once more. **“This is not blood magic or possession I speak of.I do not offer power or riches or revenge.I will simply let you pass.That is my offer.”**

“Th-that’s all?”Dorian swallowed.“I’m somewhat offended.”

The demon’s low laugh echoed in the dark chamber. **“I believe this is worth quite a lot to you.If you should die here, face-down in the dark water, what do you think will become of _Fenris_?”**

Dorian’s mouth went dry.His knuckles whitened on his staff.

**“When the mage summoned me, I saw his mind.”** The Pride Demon’s clawed hand unfurled in a gesture. **“I know what he plans to do with Fenris after your death.”**

Words would not rise to Dorian’s tongue.His heart pounded.

**“Tell me, Dorian Pavus.Would you like details?”**

Dorian’s gaze dropped from the demon to the dark water.He could see his own reflection rippling on the surface.“ ... No,” he begged softly.

**“Are you certain?You should know what is at stake when you risk your life.”**

“What do you want?” Dorian choked out.

**“Another chance.”** The demon swept his broad arm around the chamber. **“Seal me within an object.Anything small will do.A bone, an amulet... perhaps a _vase.”_** He chuckled. **“I will possess the next person to touch it.... Not you, of course.Throw it in the sea if you please.Lock it away in a dungeon.I care not.My patience is infinite.”**

Dorian could hear his own tense breathing.His gaze darted up from his own pale reflection to the demon’s twisted face.

**“What do you say, Dorian Pavus?”**

Dorian shut his eyes tight, clenching his jaw.He thrust his staff forward and sent a roiling fireball exploding from the end. 

The fireball burst against the demon’s chest.Dorian had already slung two more as the demon’s laugh filled the room.

**“This suits me as well, Magister,”** the demon rumbled as he strode forward, his massive legs throwing up plumes of water with each stride, not slowed by the onslaught of fire. **“Once you are dead, I will still have the wine-robed one.He will be easier to corrupt than you.”**

The Pride Demon lifted its massive arm, and a long whip of lightning crackled from its fist.The blood drained from Dorian’s face as he flinched back a step, his feet splashing in calf-deep water _._

_“Get out of the water!” Inquisitor Lavellan had shouted as a plume of electricity collided violently with the murky swamp of the fens.The surface crackled with death as the electrical dragon had reared its head for another attack._

All around Dorian stretched the water, broken only by looming statues.Dorian bolted for the nearest pillar of carved rock as the Pride Demon’s arm moved, the electrical whip lashing through the air.The stone Archon rose from the water in a smooth pillar, his robes studded with real human skulls.Strapping his staff to his back, Dorian jumped and grabbed hold as the whip of lightning crashed into the water.

A thunderous crackle of electricity zapped along the surface of the pool.Dorian’s fingers ached where he had dug them into the eye sockets of skulls, his arms bulging as he held his body out of the sizzling water.The demon’s laugh vibrated in his chest alongside his pounding heart.

**“Dance, little mage.Let us see how long you can keep step.”**

With a huff, Dorian released the skulls and splashed back into the water.He faced the demon and hurled a frost spell.It crusted across the demons’ broad chest, an icy chill that misted in the darkness.

“Long enough!” Dorian shouted.

**“The wine-robed one is curious about your elf.”** The demon advanced faster than Dorian could back up, not slowed by the spells. **“He wants to know how lyrium affects the blood.He wishes to _experiment._ ”**

Dorian snarled, his next fire spell boiling hotter than those before as it burst from his staff.The Pride Demon raised its massive arm and swung, claws crashing into Dorian’s chest and knocking the wind from his lungs.The next swing knocked him off his feet and opened a hot gash across his arm and chest.Dorian hissed in pain as he pulled himself to his feet, his robes soaked, bracing himself on his staff as his blood dripped into the water.

**“It’s not too late to make a deal,”** the demon reminded him.

Dorian ground his teeth and cast another spell, red fire bursting from his staff to strike the demon in the chest.

**“Think about it,”** the demon purred, advancing. **“What are you really sacrificing by giving me what I want?Do you think the wine-robed one will be able to resist my offers?I will be free one way or another.And I will have looser chains with him than with you.”**

“You’re rudely assuming that I’m going to die here,” Dorian shot back.“If I kill you, everything will be _splendid._ No demon deals necessary.”

**“Heh.That is a dangerous ‘ _if’_ you speak of, mage.”**

Dorian panted, picking his next spell carefully.As the demon lumbered towards him, Dorian cursed under his breath and locked the beast in another layer of frost, icy shackles that slowed each heavy step to a drag.He caught his breath as he backed up.Sweat dripped down his neck and stung in the slice on his arm and chest.He wasn’t accustomed to firing this many powerful spells this quickly.When Dorian had fought Pride Demons before, it had always been with allies by his side, their blades and arrows buying him time between spells. 

He knew he could not cast again in his state.The frost spell had taken his last reserves.As he backed away from the slowly advancing demon, Dorian reached into his robes and slipped out a tiny blue vial that glowed in the darkness.Thankfully, he had over-prepared today.Popping the cork off with his thumb, Dorian lifted the vial to his lips and downed the lyrium in one hungry gulp.

Power surged through him.Dorian shuddered, electricity crackling down his spine and gathering in his palms.He let the sparks ignite, and boiling flames engulfed the demon.

**“Do you grow weary already?”** The Pride Demon flicked its arm, heedless of the flames, electricity crackling from its hand. **“A pity.I certainly do not tire.”**

The lash of electricity swung through the air, and Dorian leapt quickly onto a pile of bones surrounding a statue.He panted as he pressed himself against the cold stone, electrified water snapping at his feet.A sinking feeling was pooling in his stomach.He only had one lyrium potion left.

Fire still danced along the demon’s armored body as it approached him.Dorian swallowed and left the safety of the bone pile behind, stepping back into the water as he retreated. 

_Never use retreating as a long-term strategy._ Fenris’ words bounced around Dorian’s head.He needed some way to gain the advantage, or he would simply be exhausted into defeat.

**“You held his hands through the iron bars.‘He hasn’t touched me,’ he told you.”** The Pride Demon’s voice rumbled softly. **“Do you want to know if he was telling the truth when he said that?”**

Dorian’s stomach dropped.His footsteps faltered, water splashing around his legs.

The Pride Demon chuckled. **“He didn’t want you to worry... ”**

Grinding his teeth, Dorian flung another bolt of frost as he retreated.His steps splashed, kicking over long-drowned bones.

... _Bones._ Surely some of these ancient skeletons were intact enough to be ambling about.

Dorian thrust out his hand, spreading tendrils of magic throughout the ancient pool.He clenched his fist, the air shimmering around him as the Fade pressed close, spirits eagerly flocking to his call.Spirits of Command, Purpose, Valor, and Combat all vied for his attention, eager to manifest and live out their purpose on the physical plane.

Dorian directed them to the bones in the pool.One by one, the water rippled and splashed as dripping skeletons rose from their rest, gripping shattered bones in place of weapons and closing in on the Pride Demon.Some lacked jaws or limbs, but they all emitted an echoing cry of war as they fell upon their enemy.The demon rumbled in displeasure, swatting at the skeletons as if at flies as they clashed against it.Dorian resumed his assault of fire and ice on the distracted demon, pushing himself and his magic to the limit.

This had to be enough.He couldn’t die here.

_Harder._ Dorian panted as he flung another spell. _More.It’s not enough._ His skeletons were crashing against the Pride Demon like waves against the shore, but each swing of those powerful arms reduced a dozen of them to rubble.Dorian needed more destruction if he wanted to take this beast down, more _power._ He lowered his staff and ceased his onslaught of spells, breathing hard, trying to think.The gash on his arm stung, and he winced, pressing a hand to the wound.

_More._ He couldn’t die here.He couldn’t leave Fenris in Aurelian’s grasp.

_He hasn’t touched me.Do you want to know if he was telling the truth when he said that?_

Dorian snarled under his breath, rage boiling in his chest, a hot tongue of flame hissing between his teeth.He dug his fingers into his wounded arm, the blood seeping, wetting his skin.

As the blood dripped down his wrist, he felt the _power_ he was looking for.

Dorian’s heart thumped.He could feel it, just like he had felt it so many times during his research, reaching into tiny vials.There was his blood, and there was the roiling volcano of _life_ within it.Fuel, fire.Power.

He couldn’t die here.

_You’re the one he’s trying to kill.Don’t you dare die out there._

“For you, _amatus,_ ” Dorian breathed.He reached into the sticky red heat that seeped through his fingers and thrust his bloody hand towards the Pride Demon, feeling a roaring energy boil down his arm and explode from his fingertips into --

Nothing.

Dorian blinked.He stared down at his bloody hand, glistening in the darkness.“ ... Huh.Blood magic is a bit of a disappointment.”

Something was wrong.His magic felt dull, blunted.Dorian realized that although all of the skeletons under his command were battling the Pride Demon, there was a splashing noise _behind_ him.

Dorian spun with his staff raised.Two swords _clanged_ into his weapon so hard it jarred his arms, and Dorian found himself staring into the snarling face of the Templar from the Valerian Plains.He flung her blades away and backed up, his heart pounding.

“Fasta vass,” he breathed weakly.The Templar pinned him with her cold eyes, advancing slowly, the tips of her blades dragging through the water.Behind him, Dorian could hear the last of his skeletons clashing against the towering Pride Demon.He could hear the crunching of ancient bones as they fell.

Dorian reached for his magic one more time, fruitlessly.With a frustrated curse, he put away his staff and drew his sword.

He couldn’t die here.


	16. Political Suicide

_“So what’s it like?” Dorian asked mildly, leaning against the sturdy wood of the barn and watching Blackwall polish his sword.“Being all steeled-up and front-lining each fight?”_

_Blackwall grunted.His blade already shone in the sun, but he continued to sharpen it.“It’s no treat, I’ll tell you that.Y’get real close to the death you deal.You can see it every time the light leaves a man’s eyes, knowing your blade was the reason, feeling his body break under your weapon.”He sighed.“But it’s an honor as well.When my shield or my armor takes a blow, that’s one more blow that my allies didn’t take.”_

_“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Warden Blackwall’s entire personality in a paragraph,” Dorian announced._

_Blackwall huffed.“Smartass.”_

_“I’m joking,” Dorian chuckled with a smile.“The truth is that I have a lot of respect for it.I don’t think I could do it myself.”_

_Blackwall shook his head, trying to hide his smile in his beard._

_“ ... It’s hard enough, killing from afar,” Dorian admitted.“I’ve been with the Inquisition for months and I still haven’t gotten used to it.To be that close, that physical when you take a life... I just don’t know if I could.”_

_Blackwall continued sharpening his sword, letting out a long sigh.“Dorian, I hope you never have to find out.I really do.”_

\----

Their blades locked with an ear-splitting _clang_ that jarred Dorian’s bones.For one terrifying moment, the Templar’s wild eyes were mere inches from him, her teeth bared in a snarl.Dorian shoved hard and twisted away from the sword lock, steps splashing through the water as he retreated to a safe distance.Behind him, he could hear the Pride Demon’s arrogant snarls, hear the crunch of his summoned skeletons falling in battle.

The Templar held her swords towards him like fangs, approaching calmly.She wasn’t even breathing hard.

“R-right then,” Dorian panted, circling her slowly.“As long as we’re here, let’s have a nice chat, shall we?You were a Templar once, clearly a proper one from the South.But you’re not in the South anymore, are you?Why is that?”

The woman’s scowl didn’t change.Her sword jabbed at him, and Dorian parried it smoothly, stepping back before her second strike could reach him.

“Did you leave when the Order dissolved?” Dorian asked.He feinted a blow and her first blade fell for it, but her second knocked his strike away.“Were you taken by slavers, or did you come to the Imperium of your own will?”

The Templar’s blade slid along his and nearly went for his eye before he deflected the blow.

“Not chatty, are you?”he huffed, trying to keep his eyes on both the Pride Demon and the Templar.“How about this: I’ll guess, you tell me if I’m right.”

Her sword crashed into his, knocking it aside, her other blade thrusting towards him while his defenses were down.Dorian swept her blade aside with his arm before it could reach his chest, wincing as the edge bit into his skin.He retreated quickly before she could follow up with another blow.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” he grunted between his teeth. 

The Templar raised her shoulders, making to strike him again, but this time it was his blade that caught her blow, and he flung her swords away from himself, flicking his blade towards her.He watched with satisfaction as it caught her shoulder, a slice of red branding her skin as her burning eyes met his, silently accusing him as well as warning him – she hadn’t been expecting his new prowess at swordplay, but _now_ she was.

_“Swords are not about strength.  They are about speed and cleverness.”_

Her next blow came heavier, more precise, and Dorian leapt to the side, hearing his feet splashing into the water.The Templar circled him slowly before she stepped up onto a bone pile beside a towering statue.A sudden, familiar crackle of electricity made Dorian’s hair stand on end.With a strangled curse, he bolted for the same pile of bones.

The water lit up with electrical shockwaves as the Pride Demon sent lightning shooting through Dorian’s summoned skeletons.Dorian pressed himself to a stone Archon alongside the Templar as she threw clumsy shots at him around the curve of the statue.He struggled to keep his footing while knocking the shots aside, not daring to leave the safety of the bones until the last crackle of lightning was merely an echo.Fenris’ lessons rattled around his head.

_“Notice your surroundings.”_

Dorian leapt back, his feet splashing in the water.The Templar approached aggressively.She seemed unperturbed by the presence of the demon, but Dorian noticed that her gaze would dart towards it occasionally, keeping an eye on the beast.He recalled how she had stepped onto the safety of the bones before the lightning had struck.Aurelian must have warned her about the water.

Dorian skidded to a halt on the slippery floor, bracing himself as she neared, blades bared as she attacked.As he fell into the rhythm of the fight, Dorian realized that each fighter had a different technique, and although he knew Fenris’ quite well by now, he did not know the Templar’s.He felt blind, unable to read the tells of her face or the position of her musculature. She didn’t smirk slightly before disarming him, nor did the corners of her mouth tilt up when she was pleasantly surprised by a move he did.

The memory of sword training made his chest ache.Dorian summoned up a bitter smile.

“You’re even more humorless than my last sparring mate,” he taunted.

Without a word, the Templar’s sword tilted and jabbed for his hand, slipping behind the guard of his sword.Fenris had taught Dorian that move, and he neatly lowered his sword to meet hers before the blow could land. 

“Just tell me _why,_ ” Dorian pressed.“Why are you doing all this?”

A crackle made both of their heads turn.The Pride Demon’s clawed hands were pulled to its chest, a crackling ball of thunder building between them.Without a word, both fighters jumped to different piles of bones, out of the water.The Templar glared at Dorian across the electrified waters as they snapped like a whip.

“Why are you working for Aurelian?” Dorian shouted.“What is he holding over you?”

Lightning from the Pride Demon flashed in the Templar’s wild eyes, glints dancing across her blade.  A single word dragged itself from her throat, rolled over her tongue like a prayer.

“Lyrium.”

The scowl melted from Dorian’s face.For a moment, his stomach twisted with pity.He was pulled out of his thoughts by a deep, rumbling chuckle.The water rippled as the Pride Demon’s lumbering steps carried it closer, and Dorian knew that the last of his skeletons had fallen.

“Shit,” he breathed.The Templar was already racing through the water towards him, and Dorian had no more time to dwell on pity. 

His sword met hers with a clang.The Pride Demon’s arm swung, and Dorian barely ducked in time, struggling to defend himself from the Templar’s blades.His chest heaved as he backed up, despair starting to prickle down his spine.He couldn’t fight them both at once. _I’m sorry, Fenris._

The Templar tried to circle around him, trapping him between her and the demon.Dorian muffled a weak curse as he struggled to keep his eyes on both of them. _Face-down in the dark water._ He tried to push the image from his mind.For Fenris’ sake, he couldn’t give up, not until the very end. _Fenris, I’m so sorry..._

A warning zap of electricity made his skin prickle.A dark thought rose to Dorian’s mind, banishing the despair.Numbly, he reached into his robes. 

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do, Commander Cullen,” Dorian murmured under his breath.His hand closed around a thin glass vial as he stepped onto the safety of the bones, his eyes locked on the Templar.

The Templar had already found her own dry land, but her entire body froze when Dorian removed the lyrium potion from his robes.From the corner of his eye, Dorian could see a flash of purple, the great electrical arc of the Pride Demon’s whip slinging through the air.

He threw the potion.

For a heartbeat, the glowing blue vial arced through the air.The Templar’s eyes followed it as though hypnotized.As the Pride Demon’s deadly lightning struck the water, she leaped off the safety of the bones and splashed into the pool.

Dorian turned his face away with a cringe, but her scream set his teeth on edge.He squeezed his sword hilt, steeling himself.

_“You need to be capable of killing someone without magic.”_

The crackles faded.Dorian’s legs threw up splashes as he raced for the stunned woman.Her sword tips hung limp in the water, her sightless eyes still locked on the dim glow of the lyrium potion beneath the water as Dorian’s sword ran her through.

It wasn’t like killing someone with magic.Dorian felt the flesh and bone resist his sword all the way up the length of his blade.The Templar staggered, her legs wobbling, splashing in the water.A strangled whine made Dorian’s gut twist, and he realized it had come from his own voice.Her body suddenly felt very, very heavy on his sword, and Dorian stumbled back as her corpse slid off his blade and slumped into the water.His heart was hammering. _Face-down in the dark water._

“S-so that’s what it’s like,” he choked out. 

The thundering chuckle of the Pride Demon brought him back to the present.

**“You dance well, mage,”** it rumbled.

Dorian retreated quickly, his pulse still racing.His shaking hand slid his sword back into its sheath, the slickness of blood creating an awful wet noise.He let out a long, slow breath before lifting his hand.The fireball that burst from his palm illuminated the entire chamber in orange light before it crashed against the demon’s chest.

The Pride Demon snarled a laugh, swinging for him.Dorian’s aching legs barely carried him out of the way in time.He drew his staff and slung another spell, retreating between each strike as the demon approached, slower than before.The massive monstrosity was scorched from his fire spells, and its treetrunk-thick legs were pincushioned with the broken bones of skeleton warriors, but Dorian knew it would only take one bad blow from those powerful arms to break his spine.

He threw another spell and jumped back in panic as the demon swung.It was tempting to blast the demon with everything he had, but if he ran out of mana, the fight would be over.Dorian’s next retreat carried his legs onto a pile of bones, and his back bumped against cold, carved stone.

_“Don’t retreat unless you have to.  And pay attention to your surroundings. Or else you might find yourself pinned between your enemy and some overpriced architecture.”_

Dorian set his teeth, drawing on all his magical reserves as he tore against the Fade, shouting at the spirits he commanded, forcing them into the long-dead bodies beneath his feet.The bone pile began to shift, skeletons clawing their way out from beneath the goliath weight of the stone Archon.

The Pride Demon lifted its arm.Dorian leapt out of the way as the bones at the foot of the statue boiled into life, pouring away from the stone robes of the Archon, sucking the foundation out from under it.The towering pillar gave an ominous creak.For a moment, the demon paused, arm still raised.Its horned head tilted up as the stone Archon began to lean, then fall.

The crash thundered through the cavern, throwing up a plume of water three times Dorian’s height.Dorian held his arm up to protect his face from the flying shards of rock as the Archon snapped in half across the demon’s crumpling body.Waves splashed against the forest of statues as the echoes of the toppling pillar faded.Numbly, Dorian lowered his hand.

The Pride Demon’s body was motionless underneath the fallen Archon.Dorian let out a long, sobbing breath and nearly collapsed into the bone-riddled water, catching himself on his staff.For a few heartbeats, it was all he could to to remain upright. 

One dragging step at a time, Dorian forced himself to begin walking.The water splashed around his legs, bones crunching under his steps.The great twisted body of the demon was no more than a jagged shadow as he strode past.Dorian tried not to stare at the smaller shadow that floated beside it, the one that darkened the water with seeping blood.

It felt like an age before he reached the far end of the chamber.Dorian let out a groan of relief when he finally stepped onto dry, solid ground again.His robes dripped onto the ancient stone floors as he stepped from the chamber into a narrow hall.The blood on his wounds had crusted, the smell of ash and ozone following his stride.

The hall brought him to a heavy wooden door.Dorian’s bloody hands fumbled in his pockets, pulling out the iron key that Aurelian had given him. It still glowed red in the darkness.Leaning on the door for support, Dorian managed to shove the key inside, twisting it and hearing a sharp click.The heavy door creaked loudly as he pushed it open.

The chamber was small, arched, and ended in an iron grate.In front of the grate, wide-eyed and alive and miraculously safe, stood Fenris.

Dorian took a wobbling step.Then another.Before he realized he was running, Fenris was in his arms and holding him so close he could scarcely breathe, one desperate hand holding his face and pulling him into a kiss.

The ache in Dorian’s legs and arms and heart all faded, nothing but the solid safe warmth of Fenris in his arms.He tangled his soot-smeared fingers in Fenris’ hair, letting out a relieved groan and holding him close.

He heard the knife before he felt it.

The noise was soft, slick.The air punched out of Dorian’s lungs in a hollow gasp, his lips slipping away from Fenris. _Heat,_ all he could feel was a blinding, pounding, white-hot heat in his gut.Dorian’s shaking hand slipped out of Fenris’ hair as the elf stared at him in shock.

A sticky wetness was soaking into his robes. 

“I -- ”Fenris didn’t seem to be breathing.His trembling fingers were wrapped around the knife that was buried in Dorian’s gut.“I d-don’t -- ”

Dorian tried to speak.All that came out was a thin, scraping sound of agony.When Fenris let go of the knife, Dorian collapsed to his knees and doubled over, biting down a scream.

He could feel every steely shrieking razor _inch_ of the blade that had been shoved inside him.

The catacombs spun.Breathing felt like hot embers in his lungs.Dorian almost didn’t hear the sharp noise of a sword being drawn, almost didn’t feel the cool press of steel against his neck.

“Dorian!” 

Fenris’ voice was choked with panic.Dorian managed to drag his eyes up.The elf stood over him, sword drawn, blade lying against Dorian’s neck.Fenris looked terrified, his chest heaving, his arms shaking.

“I n-not in control of this!” he insisted frantically.“I can’t -- !”

A low, familiar voice echoed through the chamber and crawled up Dorian’s spine like a spider.

“Oh dear, dear Dorian.I warned you he was a wild one.”

Expensive boots _clicked_ against the stone floor behind him.Dorian wanted to turn, but his abdomen screamed at the mere thought of it.He panted, his trembling fingers smearing through his bloody robes, finding the hilt of the knife.The footsteps passed in a swish of crimson robes, and Dorian dragged his gaze up.

“We all feared it was only a matter of time before he turned on you,” Aurelian murmured.“Oh don’t worry, I won’t make the same mistake you did.I’ll be sure to keep him in line.”Staring down with dark eyes at the bleeding man at his feet, Aurelian lifted his goblet of wine and took a sip.


	17. Coup D'état

Dorian’s life seeped out through his fingers slowly.The knife was warm where it was buried in his gut, slick with his blood.The sweat on his face felt ice cold, but not as cold as the steel of Fenris’ sword against his neck.

Aurelian hummed in approval, swirling his goblet of wine.His other hand was lifted, long fingers extended towards Fenris.The elf was frozen in place, but his eyes were locked on Aurelian, his jaw twitching in rage.

“You’re quite a nuisance, Magister Pavus,” Aurelian scolded.“Did you know that?”

Dorian tried to swallow, pain sticking in his throat.He gave Aurelian a bloody smile.“Q-quite proud of it.”

“At first, I had hoped you would understand.I know you and Alexius made such strides in arcane research, such discovery... ”Aurelian lifted his wine with a sigh.“Alas, your bill would have made my own research quite difficult.I cannot study blood magic without a steady supply of blood.A fine for killing slaves... well, you would have forced me to choose between my research and my favorite vintages.”

“Perish the thought,” Dorian rasped.He clenched his teeth hard, wrapping his hand tight around the hilt of the knife.He reached for his magic and sent a small pulse of healing through the wound.Healing magic had never been his forte, but he’d picked up a few tricks in the Inquisition.The bleeding died down from a hot gush to a slow ooze against his fingers.Dorian let out a ragged breath, sweat trickling down his neck.As long as he could keep this spell sustained, he might not bleed out on the catacomb floor.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, but I had to put a new collar on your slave,” Aurelian mused, swishing his wine. “You wouldn’t believe it, but yours was _nonfunctional._ Oh, how sad the Magisterium will be to see that broken collar, and know that your dangerous slave got loose.He killed his previous master too, did you know? _"_

Dorian ground his teeth.

“Poor, misguided Dorian,” Aurelian sighed.“We all feared he was too soft on slaves, but to be killed by his very own... it breaks the heart.At least the rest of us can learn from his mistake.”Aurelian’s eyes were dark.“Slaves need to be kept in line.Any _bill_ that restricts a Magister’s right to do so is asking for trouble.”

Fenris was panting with effort, his knuckles white on his sword hilt.“I will _not_ let you do this,” he ground out.

Aurelian hummed and flicked his outstretched hand.Fenris lifted his sword above his head, gripping it with both hands, ready to swing it down into Dorian’s neck.Fenris’ eyes widened and the rage melted from his face.

“N-no!” he shouted.

Aurelian tsked.“Oh do stop struggling, slave.It tickles.”

“D-don’t, _please_!”

“You’ve been frustratingly _alive_ for too long, Pavus,” Aurelian continued, ignoring Fenris.“The poison was a long shot, I admit, but I thought surely a Templar assassin... ”He sighed.“I’m almost not surprised to see you survived the demon.It seems the old saying is true.If you want something done right... ”

Dorian coughed, the motion sending another blinding bolt of pain through him.“Y-you’re not quite doing it _yourself,_ though, are you?”

Aurelian chuckled.“No, I suppose not.I must admit, I am _relishing_ the chance to make obedient little puppet of your mouthy slave.It is certainly an upside of this particular assassination attempt.”

“I will _kill_ you if you hurt him!” Fenris shouted. 

“Oh hush, little pet,” Aurelian replied calmly, taking another sip of wine.“I’ll break you properly later, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy your insolence in the meantime.”

“I-I’m curious,” Dorian ground out through his teeth, shaking in pain.“What has your _research_ taught you, Aurelian?What did you learn from all those dead slaves?”

“Oh, you want to know how I’m controlling your little rabbit?”Aurelian smiled and strode closer to Fenris, stopping just behind him.“It’s about _blood,_ dear Dorian.It’s always about blood.”He slipped a hand into the neck of his robes, lifting out a thin gold chain.A tiny red vial dangled from it.“I took a little sample while he was unconscious.” 

Fenris was breathing hard, his body stiff and shaking.Aurelian dropped the small vial of blood, his eyes wandering to the elf.His fingers trailed teasingly down Fenris’ throat, one finger tracing a lyrium line, and Fenris shut his eyes with a cringe.The sight cut through Dorian worse than the knife had.

“All I had to do was... spend a little time with his blood.Get to _know_ him.”Eyes locked with Dorian, Aurelian leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against Fenris’ neck, drawing a choked sob from him.

Dorian tried to wrench himself to his feet and lock his hand around Aurelian’s throat, but before he could even take a knee, he was buckling with a snarl of pain. 

Aurelian chuckled against the elf’s neck.“Once I did that, his blood was mine to control.Do you have any requests, before I have him take your head off?”His fingers danced teasingly down Fenris‘ tense belly.“I can make him do _anything,_ after all.”

Through the rage and the pain and the exhaustion and the fear, a _spark_ flickered in Dorian’s chest.It was a spark he hadn’t felt since his days with Alexius, pouring over old books and spells, researching endlessly until that moment when a breakthrough _sparked..._

Dorian’s eyes widened.Words slipped out of him on a ragged breath.“ ... Fasta vass, it’s actually possible.”

Aurelian frowned over his wine.“Well, it’s no fun if you’re going to babble incoherently.”He sighed and stepped back from Fenris.“Don’t hold back now, slave.You wouldn’t want to take his head _half_ off.”

Fenris’ eyes flashed down to Dorian in panic, his arms tensing.Dorian cursed under his breath and his knuckles tightened around the hilt of the knife.The sword flashed down through the air, and Dorian ripped the knife out of his belly to slam it up against the sword, stopping it with a clang just inches from his neck.

Aurelian laughed, swirling his wine.“So eager to put off death, necromancer?”

“A-absolutely.”Dorian was grinning like a madman, his arm trembling where he held the bloody dagger against Fenris’ blade.He could hear the scrape of steel on steel, both weapons grinding against each other.“A-after all, you’ve just -- nnh -- g-given me some _excellent_ news.”

“Oh?”

“Matching -- ”Dorian coughed once, agony rippling through him.It wasn’t enough to stop the _spark._ “Matching b-blood to a person.It’s _possible._ And what y-you’re doing must be... s-simply manipulating that -- ”

“How delightful for you,” Aurelian interrupted.“But I’m terribly sick of you being alive.”

“Oh, I’m not going to die.”Dorian’s arm was shaking violently with the effort to hold Fenris’ sword at bay, the elf’s biceps bulging as he continued to drive his blade down.The locked swords dipped a precarious inch closer to Dorian’s neck, but his smile only broadened.“Y-you see, no matter how you’ve studied his blood, you don’t know Fenris like I do.”

Dorian slipped his blade off of Fenris’ and ducked _._ The sword snapped past his head and slammed into the stone floor, throwing up dust and shards of rock.Biting down agony, Dorian kicked himself back across the floor, thrust out his open hand towards Fenris, closed his eyes, and _reached._

He thought back to his summer mansion.To the vial of Fenris blood in his hand.To the elf’s fingers tangled in his own.Trying to match one to the other.Looking into Fenris’ green, green eyes.Every line of the man’s face. _No, it’s not about his face, look deeper._ It was about something hot and unique and intimate, something he had _felt_ ever so briefly as he reached into the elf’s veins _._ Something that connected blood to man.Some element that was deeply, distinctly, exclusively _Fenris._

Dorian’s magic _reached_ into Fenris’ veins.And he found that element _._

Dorian could hear the scrape of a sword being wrenched out of stone.He could hear heavy steps approaching him, hear Fenris shout his name in warning.Dorian kept his eyes closed, furrowing his brow.He could feel the nameless biological code of Fenris pumping through the elf’s veins, and sunk into it like hooks, he could feel _Aurelian._

Dorian’s eyes snapped open.He clenched his empty fist, and his magic locked around Fenris’ blood like a steel trap.Fenris froze, sword lifted above Dorian’s head, breathing heavily.

For the first time, the calm satisfaction on Aurelian’s face wavered.“ ... What are you doing, Dorian?”

_Pump pump pump._ Dorian could taste the _power,_ and it was trapped in his fist like a horse’s reins.He focused all of his thoughts on Fenris’ lean arms, on the blood that fueled them.He pulled, a silent command, urging those arms to lower.

Fenris wavered.His sword dipped, the tip turning away.His eyes darted to Dorian in confusion, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

Aurelian tensed, his hand clenching as it reached out towards Fenris.“ _Stop it,_ Pavus.You’ll rip him apart if you do this.”

“I do not believe you,” Dorian ground out, word by word.His magic pulled on Fenris like strings on a puppet, and inch by inch, Fenris’ body obeyed.Dorian could feel Aurelian’s presence struggling to maintain a hold, to keep control.Dorian couldn’t keep a savage grin off his face.He could feel Aurelian _losing._

“Let him go _now,_ Pavus,” Aurelian ground out, his smile gone. A bead of sweat was trickling down his forehead.“You don’t want to know the ways I can hurt him from the inside.”

“I think you’re lying,” Dorian shot back.“I don’t think you can make him do a damn thing right now.”He flicked his hand down, and Fenris sword slammed into the stone floor.Dorian kept his searing eyes locked on Aurelian.“He’s _mine._ ”

Dorian twisted his hand.Slowly, sword tip dragging across the stone floor, Fenris turned around to face Aurelian.He rolled his shoulder, cracked his neck, and took a step forward.

All at once, the tethers of Aurelian’s magic snapped away from Fenris’ blood.For one dizzying instant, nothing stood between Dorian and the raw, pumping _power_.There was no resistance to his control, nothing holding him back.Every inch of Fenris’ body was his to command, every drop of life his to drain.

Dorian’s breath hitched.He clenched his teeth, swallowed hard, and let all that power go. 

The heat and the coppery-sweet taste all vanished.Dorian sucked in a strained breath and threw all of his remaining mana into a magical barrier.

“ _Fenris!_ ”

Aurelian’s teeth were bared as a massive bloom of fire exploded from his hand and struck Fenris in the chest.The elf didn’t slow his stride as the flames burst harmlessly against his barrier, his face set into a mask of hate.Aurelian shouted a curse and flung spell after spell as he retreated, until his back slammed against the iron grate.Fenris’ sword was moving before Aurelian could speak.

The wet _thud_ made Dorian wince.A soft grunt slipped from Aurelian’s lips as Fenris gave the sword another shove, driving it through the Magister’s chest up to the hilt, the bloody blade protruding through the iron grate.Aurelian’s face was blank with surprise.The goblet of wine in his hand wobbled, slipped, and fell to the floor, its crimson contents spilling into the dust.

With a disgusted sneer, Fenris lifted the vial of blood that hung from Aurelian’s neck.One jerk of his hand ripped the gold chain.He dropped the vial to the floor, and the glass crushed under his boot with a small crunch, mingling with the spilled wine.

Aurelian let out one more rattling breath and collapsed, going limp against the iron grate.There was a soft click, and the collar around Fenris’ neck unsnapped and fell into the dust and wine at his feet.

A weak smile crossed Dorian’s face.It was interrupted by an agonized cough, and his vision spun for a moment.The healing spell that had lingered on his wound was gone, the blood flowing hot and fast once more.

“Dorian -- ”

A powerful hand was on his shoulder, holding him up.Dorian smiled, dizzy.“It a-appears we have succeeded.”A shot of pain made him grimace.“ ... Nhh, n-not without cost.”

Fenris was breathing hard, his face pale.“W-we need to get you to a healer.Can you stand?”

“Th-that’s not what I mean.”Dorian clung to the armored leather of Fenris’ shirt, holding his gaze.“Fenris, I used it.I used blood magic.It was only for a moment and it was to save you, but _I used blood magic --_ ”

“We can deal with that _later,_ ” Fenris snarled.“You’re injured and we need to -- ” 

“I’m giving it up,” Dorian promised fervently.“I’ll pass the research off to someone else, someone I trust.I won’t control someone like that again, I won’t become a -- ”

His words were cut off by the pads of Fenris’ fingers pressing against his lips.Dorian stilled his tongue reluctantly.

Fenris spoke slowly and sternly.“We will deal with that _later._ Can you stand?”

The thought made his gut scream.Dorian bit his lip and grabbed Fenris’ arm for support.“I’d b-better.I’ve g-got -- a bill to pass.”

“Can you not heal yourself?”

“N-not my area of expertise -- ”The hot gush of blood was making him dizzy.“Even if I could, my magical reserves are drained -- ”

Dorian’s words were cut off as Fenris leaned in and pressed a sudden kiss to his lips.For a moment, the warm press of the elf’s mouth drew Dorian’s attention away from the pain.Then the lyrium hit him like a thunderbolt.

Dorian let out a muffled moan against Fenris’ lips as raw power pumped straight into his soul, cool and clear and vivid, breathing a staggering life into his weary limbs.Fenris’ lyrium brands were alight, burning with power as he held Dorian close.Dorian gasped when the kiss broke. 

“There,” Fenris panted, “that should help.”

Dorian pressed his hand against the wound and sent a cold pulse of magic into his body.The bleeding slowed.A blissful numbness washed over the wound, and Dorian let out a sobbing breath of relief.

“F-fasta vass, I need to stop being stabbed in the stomach,” he spilled out with a weak laugh.

“Agreed.”Fenris dragged Dorian’s arm across his shoulders, hauling him to his feet.“Come, we cannot miss the vote -- ”

Dorian hissed out a long string of curses as Fenris lifted him upright, nearly doubling over.He pressed a hand against the screaming twist of agony in his belly. 

“I’ll live,” Dorian insisted quickly, clinging to Fenris for support. “Nnh, my goodness that is excruciating... ”

Fenris stared at him in something like awe.“ ... You are going to walk into the Magisterium like this, aren’t you?”

Dorian gave him a dry smile, wincing through it.“I dare say the history books will remember this one, Fenris.Let’s go reform Tevinter, shall we?”

\----

_If you ever want to get a highborn Vint spitting fire, try mentioning the name Dorian Pavus.And then try ducking under the nearest table to avoid the flames, because even the people who agree with him have some damn strong feelings on the matter._

_For all the controversy that surrounds the man, there are a few details that no one disputes: No one thinks the man didn’t have some real brass balls.Every single Magister who was there at the time of his infamous bill tells the same story: after Magister Viator successfully filibustered the vote for nearly an hour, Dorian Blasted Pavus came bursting through those big fancy doors covered in blood and soot, leaning on a slave for support and holding his own guts in.Slaves aren’t normally allowed in the Magisterium, but no one said a blighted word about it that day, even though the armored elf stood next to Dorian for the entire voting process._

_Needless to say, the bill passed._

_That wasn’t the end of the story, of course.The slave registry needed to be overhauled, Dorian’s blood research needed to be finalized and implemented into the law, safeguards against bribery had to be put into place, and... ah, that’s not what you’re interested in, is it?_

_Just like the law, Dorian and Fenris had their own loose ends to tie up._

\- Chapter 17 _Reform,_ a story by Viscount Varric Tethras, 9:46 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the last chapter! Sit tight, there is more coming!


	18. Honeymoon Period

“How did we ever manage this with your hands shackled?”

Fenris smirked into Dorian’s shoulder, pressed up behind the man as they rode Frostback across the Valarian Plains.A crisp wind was whipping across the fields, carrying the smell of grass and earth and sunlight, white clouds drifting across the clear sky.Dorian’s belly twinged a little with each bounce of Frostback’s step, but after a hearty dose of healing magic, a soothing poultice, and a thick linen bandage, he barely noticed it. 

Even if the wound had been fresh, Dorian didn’t think he would have felt it.He had done the impossible.The Tevinter Imperium had passed a law protecting slave rights.It was a small step, but even this small step felt like a miracle.

“I couldn’t say how we managed this last time,” Fenris replied, his breath warm against Dorian’s bare shoulder.“But I know I prefer it like this.”

Dorian tsked, trying to keep a smile off his face as they rode.“I can tell.Are your hands lost?”

“Lost?”

“Because they certainly are wandering.”

“Heh.”Fenris slid his hands to a more respectful position on Dorian’s hips.“Perhaps I prefer more than just the absence of shackles.”

“Something about being pressed up behind me?”

“Something about that, yes.”

“Well, your wandering hands should keep in mind that there is a horse underneath us.Frostback takes clenching legs to mean _‘please run like the wind.’_ ”

Fenris slipped his hands off of Dorian entirely.Dorian chuckled.

It still felt surreal.Dorian had been working on this bill ever since he returned to the Imperium, but part of him had never expected it to actually pass.His fantasies of change had always featured him being assassinated long before any legislative progress was made.His darker scenarios involved him alone in his wine cellar, staring down rows of empty bottles and pouring himself yet another cup with dead eyes while his stacks of abandoned paperwork gathered dust.

But that hadn’t happened.He hadn’t been alone with his wine and paperwork for weeks.There had been someone else sitting beside him all those sleepless nights.

Someone who had paid a high price for being associated with him.

“Something is bothering you,” Fenris murmured, resting his chin on Dorian’s shoulder.

The wind carried Dorian’s soft words across the lonely plains.“ ... I used blood magic.”

For a moment, Fenris didn’t answer.The only sound was the wind and the _clopclop_ of Frostback’s hooves against grass and firm ground. 

It was a while before Fenris spoke, his voice low.“Do you know what Aurelian would have done to me if you hadn’t stopped him?”

Dorian squeezed the reins in his hands.“I don’t mean to say I regret helping you.But if I accept one excuse, who’s to say -- ”

“ -- Because I _do_ know what Aurelian would have done to me,” Fenris interrupted.“He enjoyed discussing it while I was in his captivity.”

Dorian’s throat constricted.He’d avoided asking Fenris about his day in Aurelian’s grasp.For just a flash, he could remember the Magister’s long finger teasing down Fenris’ neck while the elf trembled. _He hasn’t touched me.Do you want to know if he was telling the truth when he said that?_

“Whatever magic you did, you didn’t do it for power,” Fenris continued.“You did it to free me from a man who wished to strip me of my will.And I will not hear you speaking ill of that decision.”

Wind gusted, teasing Dorian’s hair.“ ... How can you trust me not to do it again?” he murmured.“Maker, I don’t even trust myself.”

“Because you let me go.”

Dorian swallowed his words.In place of reply, he nodded.The knot in his stomach began to slowly loosen.Frostback continued in silence across the plains, past stumpy trees twisted by the constant wind, clinging to the shelter of every rocky outcropping.

“ ... You said you wished to pass your research off to someone else,” Fenris began as they trotted past a stony hill.“Do you have someone in mind?”

Dorian heaved a long sigh.“I don’t know.I’m not sure who I would trust with something like this, but I don’t think I can bear to do it myself anymore.Not after what I almost did to you.”

“Mm.”Fenris turned his gaze upwards, watching the rocky cliffs pass them by.“I know someone who can help.”

“Truly?”Dorian cocked a skeptical eyebrow.“You have some secret mage friend who is not only willing to use blood magic, but whom you trust to not be corrupted by it?”

“‘Friend’ might be a strong word, but yes.”

“This must be an elaborate joke.”

“Believe me, she and I have our disagreements,” Fenris defended.“But she cares for the downtrodden, and blood magic has not corrupted her yet.I am certain Varric can put you in touch with her.”

Dorian’s smirk evaporated.“ ... Blood magic has not corrupted her _yet_?Are you saying -- ”Dorian straightened in his saddle.“Is this the elf from Varric’s book?The Dalish blood mage, Hawke’s companion?”

The _zing_ of an arrow whistled past Dorian’s head and cut off his words.Frostback whinnied in alarm, tossing his white mane and stamping his hooves against the dust.Dorian took both reins in one hand and drew his staff, electricity crackling along the shaft.He could see someone crouching in the branches of a stunted nearby tree, bow in hand, dappled in shadow.Dorian was about to send a bolt of thunder her way when she lifted her face and smiled.

“Hands in the air, Magister!” a familiar voice called.Someone stood up from behind a boulder, a man with a two-handed maul strapped to his back.He smirked at Dorian as he approached.“You mysterious Magister, you, whom I’ve never met before.”

Sword drawn, Fenris leapt from Frostback’s saddle and pointed his blade at the man.“If you wish to live, you’ll leave,” he growled. 

Krem lifted his hands innocently.“Your friend’s a little violent, Dorian.What kind of company have you been keeping?”

“Who are you?” Fenris demanded, his blade still raised.

A wide smile had broken across Dorian’s face, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t give Krem the scowl he deserved.“ _We’re_ the violent ones?Dalish nearly took my eye out.”He slipped out of Frostback’s saddle, landing heavily on the grass next to Fenris.“I trust the rest are here.”

Krem flicked his hand.Like ghosts, the full, armored company of the Bull’s Chargers emerged from the rocks and trees and shrubs, weapons all drawn. Dalish and Stitches and Rocky -- and, yes, Dorian’s smile broadened as a familiar Qunari stepped out from behind a boulder, a greataxe balanced on his broad shoulders.

“Good seeing you, Dorian,” Iron Bull said with a grin.

Fenris tensed as the mercenary group emerged, stepping closer to Dorian and keeping his sword raised.Dorian laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Relax, Fenris.These are friends.”He strode past Fenris, clapping a comforting hand on the bewildered elf’s back as he passed.

Bull sighed and lifted his axe, pointing it at Dorian and bringing his steps to a halt.“Afraid I gotta ask you to stop there.We’re being watched.”

Dorian froze.His eyes darted towards the jagged towers of Minrathous, not far behind him.Up on those towers were guards, he knew.Guards who could see everything that unfolded on the plains below.

“ ... Ah,” Dorian relented.“I understand.This needs to look like a mugging, doesn’t it?”

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Fenris snarled, “but what exactly is going on?”

Dorian stepped back to Fenris’ side.“Fenris, allow me to introduce the Bull’s Chargers.Renowned mercenary company, excessive drinkers, and friend to the Inquisition.”

Fenris’ eyes widened.He lowered his sword slowly.“Then... ”

Bull gave Fenris a crooked smile.“We’re your ticket outta here, buddy.Pleased to meet you.I’d shake your hand, but... you know.Might look a little too friendly for a mugging.”

The brief brightness in Dorian’s heart faded.He’d almost forgotten that the elf would be leaving soon.

Krem smiled.“And not a scratch on Dorian’s shimmering political image!It’s no one’s fault if you get attacked by bandits who make off with your slave, right?”He gave a nod towards Fenris.“If you’ll forgive the terminology.” 

“But this will look frightfully suspicious,” Dorian protested.“A band of skillful bandits mugs one Magister and steals one slave -- ”

Bull interrupted with a rowdy laugh.“Balls, Dorian, you’re the fifth group we’ve robbed today!”

“Also, we’ll be taking your valuables,” added Dalish with a giggle, notching an arrow to her bow.

Dorian sighed unhappily.“ ... Very well.But I wish the Inquisitor had told me her plan before sending a bunch of ruffians to assault me.”

Bull frowned.“ ... Didn’t Varric send you a letter?”

“Well, yes, but it had nothing to do with _this._ ”

“Something about running into a _tiny_ problem after your vote?”Bull pressed, gesturing at the group.“And feeling less _broody_ afterwards?”

Dorian pursed his brow.Then he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.“Maker’s breath... you’re Tiny.Fenris is Broody.Varric and his blasted nicknames.”

“Fenris, right?”Bull pointed at the elf with his massive axe.“If you’ll just come with us, we’ll take you out of Tevinter.From there, you can go wherever you please, but if you’re looking for work, the Inquisition’s hiring.”

Fenris blinked.He glanced at Dorian uncertainly. 

“It’s all right,” Dorian murmured.“I trust Bull with my life.He’ll get you out of Tevinter safely.”

Slowly, almost as if he feared someone would stop him, Fenris left Dorian’s side and approached the Chargers.Dorian bit his tongue, fighting the urge to drag Fenris back.He knew this was coming, but he didn’t think it would hurt this much.

“Where will you go?” he blurted.

Fenris turned.“I... don’t know.”

Bull’s massive hand clapped on his shoulder.“Bah, you’ll figure it out along the way.Dorian, come to Skyhold when you can.”

He almost wanted to leave with them.Go back to Skyhold and the Inquisition, or maybe leave all responsibility behind and just follow Fenris wherever he chose to go.He was growing tired of giving up family.

“Dorian.”

Bull’s voice cut through Dorian’s thoughts.He looked up at the Qunari, blinking.

“I’ll say it again in case you didn’t hear,” Bull said slowly, holding eye contact.“ _You should really come visit Skyhold._ Yeah?”

Swallowing, Dorian nodded.“Y-yes.I will.”

“Good.”Bull clapped his hand on Fenris’ shoulder again, giving the elf a friendly shake that nearly took him off his feet.“We’ll take care of him, I promise.”

“G-good.”Dorian took a deep breath, turning his eyes back to Fenris.Trying to memorize the lines of his face.Fenris stared back, and it seemed he too had just realized that this was goodbye.Dorian swallowed.“Fenris... ”

Fenris strode towards him, but was stopped by Bull’s massive hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Bull murmured, “but we can’t have touchy goodbyes with eyes on us.”

Fenris clenched his teeth, and for a moment it seemed he was going to throw off Bull’s grip.Then he let out a ragged breath and stepped back, but he never took his eyes off Dorian.Instead, he lifted two fingers and pressed them to his lips.With a lump in his throat, Dorian did the same.

“You got me out of here,” Fenris murmured.“Remember what I promised.”

_I’ll kiss you breathless._ Dorian nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

Krem cleared his throat loudly, turning to face the Chargers.“All right, team, let’s move out!Those Magisters won’t mug themselves.” 

Bull gave Fenris another shake.“You wanna help us rob some Vints before we head out?Course you do.”

"He looks like he'll be good at it," Rocky added, his thick mustache turned up in a smile.

Krem slapped a gloved hand on Fenris’ shoulder."What do you think?"

Fenris glanced around the group.His face broke into a grin. " ... If it means separating Magisters from their gold, I can stand Tevinter a little longer."

In spite of the ache in his chest, Dorian smiled."You’ll all be a terrible influence on each other.Don't have too much fun without me.”He cleared his throat.“And... Fenris?"

Fenris turned his gaze back to Dorian, his grin faltering for a moment.

"Magister Arida is quite anxious to begin construction of his pleasure garden,” Dorian began.“So anxious, he might make a little trip out onto the lonely, exposed plains all alone, so he can scope out the land and fantasize."

For a moment, Fenris just blinked.Then a smirk spread across his face.“It would be a shame if something happened to him.”

“Such a shame.”Dorian tilted his head towards the distant city.“He favors the far side of Minrathous, with a view of the sea.”

“Sounds like we have a schedule.”Iron Bull laid his axe across his broad shoulders.“Take care of yourself, Dorian.We’ll see you around.And since we’re such generous bandits, we won’t even take your valuables.”

Before Dorian could stop the words, they spilled from his lips.“You already have.” 

Bull frowned.He pointed a thick finger at Dorian.“Skyhold.”With that, he turned, dragging Fenris with him.“Chargers, move out!”

The mercenary company melted back into the cover of the rocky outcropping, keeping the boulders between themselves and the distant towers of Minrathous as they struck out across the plains.Dorian watched them go with an ache in his chest.Wind gusted, making his robes flutter and drawing a snort from Frostback. 

It had been a long time since the Valarian Plains felt this empty.

\----

The bag of coins made a jangling thunk as they dropped onto the dark wood of the table.The wizened clerk peered at the stuffed leather pouch curiously, dragging her assessing gaze up to the man who stood on the other side of the desk.His arms were crossed, his jaw set.

“ ... Well, you have my attention,” the clerk grunted.“What can I do for you?”

Dorian waved a hand at the bag of coins.“This isn’t a bribe.It’s a lost slave fee.”

“A lost slave fee?”

“Yes.I’ve lost one of my slaves and can no longer account for him.I’m paying the fee.”

The clerk’s frown soured.“ ... There’s no fee for lost slaves.That’s absurd.”

Dorian sucked in a tense breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.“ ... It’s a new law. _Very_ new.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because it was voted on today.”The severity of Dorian’s scowl made the clerk wither.“ _I_ wrote that law and _I_ saw it pass.So believe me, _I know what I’m talking about._ ”

The clerk huffed unhappily.She scooped up the bag of coins.“Very well, very well.I’ve never seen a man so eager to part with his own money.”

The corner of Dorian’s mouth twitched, almost as though a bitter smile were trying to creep onto his face.“Hardly.It _wounds_ me to know that, officially, I no longer own a single slave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also not the last chapter!


	19. Zeitgeist

_Two Months Later_

\----

It was a long journey from Minrathous to Skyhold, and by the end, Dorian thought he finally understood what “pilgrimage” meant.With each step he took away from the Imperium, he felt less a Magister and more himself.By the time Skyhold appeared, shining like a gem on the side of the Frostbacks, Dorian had found the rough, honest smile he used to wear in his days with the Inquisition.

The gates swung open for him, and Dorian rode inside atop the horse that he had named after these mountains.The guards greeted him, some by name, and Dorian greeted them back.As he finally stepped into the courtyard, he craned his head back to admire the towering castle of Skyhold.

Dorian’s contemplation was interrupted by a pair of rough, massive hands yanking him out of his saddle and into a violent hug.

“Welcome back, you scrappy little Vint!” Bull bellowed, laughing as he held Dorian aloft and hugged him tight.He rubbed a big hand through Dorian’s hair, messing it up, and Dorian spluttered.“That’s the hug I owed you outside Minrathous.”

Dorian wheezed as Bull finally set him down.He brushed an offended hand through his messy hair.“And here I was almost starting to miss you,” he jibed.

“Haha, you can’t keep yourself away!”Bull crossed his massive arms over his chest.“Safe travels, I hope?”

“Long, but safe.”Dorian let out a sigh, smiling as he looked around the grounds.“ ... Little quieter here than I remember.Might I find the Inquisitor?”

Bull cocked his head towards the main gate.“She’s in the field.Might be back later tonight.She’s livid about missing your arrival.” 

Dorian shifted his feet on the grass.“And, ah... is... ”He cleared his throat, hoping his voice was steady.“ ... Is Fenris still around?”

“Psh.”Bull’s broad shoulders shifted as he chuckled.“You think I’d let him leave before you could see him?He’s around somewhere.”Bull smirked, gesturing at the castle.“Want a tour, Vint?You’re in a strange land, after all.”

“I haven’t been gone for _that_ long,” Dorian scoffed.Casting another glance up at the towering castle, he smiled.“ ... I think I’d like to wander a bit, see what’s changed.I’ll certainly find you this evening for drinks.”

“Suit yourself.And... Dorian?”

Dorian dropped his gaze back to the Qunari.Bull pointed a rough finger at him.

“Don’t you leave without fucking that elf.”

With a laugh, Dorian crossed his arms.“Barely through the gates, and I’m already being sent on official Inquisition business!Tell me, Bull, how much mileage have you gotten out of that mental image during your personal time?”

“I’m serious.”Bull frowned.“He wants you.You want him.Sometimes he stares off at the mountains with those big puppy eyes and sighs forlornly.For the love of crap, _fuck each other._ ”

“That will be for me to know and for you to polish your weapon over,” Dorian teased.He brushed past Bull and strode crisply across the courtyard.“Drinks this evening!” he reminded cheerfully.

Bull’s snort made him grin.

\----

Everything was where he had left it.

Dorian stood in the small library by the rookery, staring at the velvet armchair, the narrow window, the shelves of books.Almost like he had never left.Dust motes drifted in the sunlight that poured through the window, the bitter cold locked securely outside the thick stone walls.Inside, the library was cozy. 

Reverently, Dorian trailed his fingers along the leather-bound spines of the books.The Inquisitor had expanded her collection, he could see.The Tevinter History section was larger than he remembered.Dorian smiled.Nearly all of those volumes were his doing, gifts he had sent.

Turning, Dorian wandered to the window, admiring the view of the mountains.Frost fanned at the corners of the glass, crawling along the iron panes.The icy expanse of the Frostbacks stretched out into the distance, and far below, Dorian could see the warm green grounds of Skyhold, crawling with members of the Inquisition.Exactly as he remembered.

The back of Dorian’s neck prickled.A soft noise reached his ears, the near-silent pad of a footstep behind him.A reflexive crackle of lighting snapped along Dorian’s knuckles as he spun around.

Two fingers were pressed threateningly to the side of his throat like a blade.Standing brazenly in the Skyhold library, Fenris smirked at him.

“Too slow,” the elf teased.

Dorian stared at him, his words gone.Fenris’ garb was well-crafted and lean, the simple leathers of an off-duty warrior.He seemed to be in good health, and there was an ease to his smile that Dorian had never seen before.

Fenris lowered his hand, looking Dorian over fondly.“You look well.I’ve missed you.”

Dorian crossed the distance between them in two quick strides and pulled Fenris into a kiss.Fenris kissed him back with a pleased hum, tilting his head and deepening the embrace, sliding his arm around Dorian’s waist. 

“I’ve missed you too,” Dorian muffled against Fenris’ lips, pressing one more kiss against them.He summoned up the will to pull back, smiling.“I’m sorry, I’m rather rushing things, aren’t I?We skipped right past the entire ‘how have you been’ process.”

“Mmh.”Fenris leaned in and kissed him again.“Keep rushing things.”

“Thank you for asking, I have been feeling splendid of late,” Dorian snarked.“I trust Skyhold has treated you well?”

“It’s been good, but a certain craving of mine has gone unsatisfied,” Fenris shot back.

“The new law is going down about as smoothly as Skyhold’s wine, which I’m sure you’ve figured out by now -- ”

“Kaffas, Dorian, don’t you dare start talking politics to me now.”

Dorian grinned and gave Fenris a little push, cornering him against the bookshelves.His hands slid down to the elf’s waist, pinning him there as he leaned in to breathe against his lips.

“Oh Fenris, I have _so_ many legislative minutia to run over with you -- ”

He was cut off as Fenris snarled and dragged him into a biting kiss.Dorian grinned against the elf’s lips as Fenris’ hand fisted in his hair, pulling just hard enough to sting.When Fenris rolled his hips, a hot stiffness pressing against Dorian’s body, Dorian’s snark melted away.He returned the kiss with a needy moan before slipping his lips down, sucking a kiss onto the sensitive lines of lyrium on Fenris’ chin.Fenris panted as Dorian dragged wet kisses along his jaw, down to his neck.

“I want this to be clear,” Fenris grunted as Dorian’s hands found his hips, pinning him hard against the bookshelves.“I am no longer a slave.I am not even _pretending_ to be a slave.”

“No no, of course not,” Dorian replied in a rush, trying not to pull his lips away from Fenris’ neck a second longer than he had to.He bit down, leaving pink marks.“And -- mmh -- as long as I remain outside the Imperium, I have no authority as a Magister.”

Fenris groaned, his hands locking over Dorian’s ass, pulling him close and squeezing.“Does that mean we’re not going to have a problem?”

“Nnnh -- not a one.”

“Then you are comfortable proceeding?”

Dorian pulled back, panting, to look Fenris in the eye.“ _Completely.”_

“I’d like to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

“Nnh, _please._ ”

“So we understand each other?”

“Fasta vass, Fenris -- ”

The conversation was smothered in a deep, hungry kiss.Dorian’s head was spinning from the powerful, eager press of Fenris’ body against his own, the freedom to finally touch the way he wanted.His hips were slotted neatly between the elf’s legs, a powerful hand holding him close so Fenris could grind against him in hungry thrusts.Dorian could _feel_ when Fenris’ arousal twitched against his own, hot and hard in his pants.

“Mmh -- ”With a needy whine, Fenris spun them and slammed Dorian against the books, knocking off a thick leather volume off the shelf.It lay on the floor unheeded as Fenris devoured Dorian’s lips, hands firm on his waist to hold him there as he rolled his hips.Dorian moaned into the elf’s mouth and locked his hands over Fenris’ ass, pulling him in, urging each grind.

He knew the little library was barely hidden from view, knew that people wandered the upper floors of the rotunda on Inquisition business, but right now Dorian didn’t think he would mind if the entire army barged in on them.He could feel each shudder in Fenris’ body, each catch of the elf’s breath, each rolling grind sending another spark of knee-wobbling pleasure through him --

“A-a-ah -- ”Fenris broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, his body shuddering.His hips jittered, his breath steaming against Dorian’s kiss-slick lips as he moaned.“Aa-ah, _Dorian..._ ”

Dorian’s heart raced as he stared breathlessly.“K-kaffas, Fenris, did you just...?”

Fenris let out a long, satisfied breath, his body shuddering one more time.Flush faced and hazy-eyed, he smiled. 

Dorian swallowed.“J-just from...?”

“I’ve missed you,” Fenris breathed.He leaned in and pressed his lips against Dorian’s again, slow and soft and _satisfied,_ thick with post-orgasmic bliss.Dorian’s heart hammered as he felt Fenris give a lazy grind against him.He shuddered, grabbing Fenris’ face and deepening the kiss.

“Mmh... ”Fenris fumbled with Dorian’s pants, slipping his hand past the tight leather, brushing against Dorian’s bare skin.He nuzzled his face into Dorian’s neck, breathing in his ear.“Can I touch you?”

“Maker, _don’t stop_ \-- ”

Fenris’ hand slipped lower, his fingers bumping against Dorian’s arousal.His teeth and tongue continued to lavish Dorian’s neck as his fingers wrapped around it.

“A-a-ah -- ”Dorian fisted a hand in the elf’s hair and panted at the first stroke.“F-Fenris -- ” 

Dorian’s sexual performance and stamina was normally a point of pride for him, but he could tell right away that today would not be a prime example of his prowess.It had been too long since he’d felt the touch of anything besides his own hand, and on the long road to Skyhold, even that had been forgone.Within seconds he was muffling his groans into Fenris’ neck, his body trembling.Fenris’ touches were inexperienced, eager, and accented by sharp bites and low groans.

“Is this good?” Fenris murmured in his ear.

“Mmmh -- !”Dorian’s shaking hand was fisted in the back of Fenris’ shirt, holding him close.“D-don’t stop, nhh, _Fenris_ \-- ”

Dorian buried his hot face in Fenris’ neck to muffle his groans as a final shudder rippled through him, his body trembling against the bookshelves.Fenris’ stroked him through it, pressing a kiss to his neck, murmuring his name until the tension melted from Dorian’s body in a weak shudder.He let out a long breath, panting, as Fenris pulled back.

“W-well then,” Dorian joked breathlessly.“Th-that’s a fine way to say ‘hello.’”

Fenris glanced at his messy hand sheepishly, and then at his pants.“ ... I believe I will be returning to my quarters briefly.I would very much like to change clothes.”

Dorian’s smile shone.“May I join you?I would very much like to see you naked.”

“Mmh.”Fenris grabbed Dorian’s belt, his grin back.“Only if I get the same.”

\----

The sun shone down on Skyhold’s grounds, keeping the chill mountain air at bay with a wash of warmth.Bull sat on the steps near the main gate, whistling as he polished his axe.He glanced up when the heavy gates swung open and the Inquisitor and her party rushed inside.

“Where is he?”Lavellan’s stern voice boomed across the courtyard as she stormed into the castle, louder than a frame as small as hers ought to produce.“Where is that beautiful Tevinter mage, I’ll hug him until he can’t -- ”

Bull jabbed his thumb at the main keep with a smile.“Sorry, boss.He and Fenris found each other an hour ago.”

Lavellan stopped in front of Bull.She placed her hands on her slim hips, next to the pair of knives that hung there.“All right, so where are they now?That man owes me a hug.”

“Fenris’ room.”Bull turned back to his weapon, sliding the whetstone along the blade.“And believe me, boss, I know it’s tempting to barge in, but let’s give them a little space, yeah?”

“ ... They’ve been in there for an _hour_?”

“Mm-hm.And hopefully an hour more.”Bull smiled.“Get comfy, boss.I doubt they’re coming out any time soon.”He slid the whetstone again, drawing a low grind from the blade.“ ... And thank shit, too.I was getting blue balls just _looking_ at the pair of ‘em.”

\----

“ ... Is that the vase I got you?”

Fenris smiled into Dorian’s neck, not making a move to untangle their limbs. The bed was piled with blankets, but the two of them lay bare on top of the covers.A crackling fireplace and the heat of two bodies was more than enough to drive away the mountain chill.

The flames of the fireplace flickered in the gaudy gold leaf of the hideous vase that sat beside Fenris’ bed, painting the portraits of Magisters in a warm light.

“It is,” Fenris replied.

“It must have arrived weeks ago with your armor.”Dorian huffed.“I’m surprised it’s still in one piece.”

Fenris chuckled.“I couldn’t smash it before you showed up.Not that it hasn’t been tempting.Varric has given me no end of grief for having the wretched thing in my room.”

“Well, I’m here now.Shall we destroy it and substantially improve the average quality of art in Thedas?”

“Mmm.”Fenris nuzzled into Dorian’s neck.“Not yet.I don’t want to stop touching you.”

Dorian shut his mouth with a helpless smile before something embarrassingly emotional could slip out.Instead, he slid his hand down Fenris’ back, feeling the ripples of muscle, the heat of bare skin.He closed his eyes and nuzzled his face into Fenris’ hair, breathing deep, letting his mind wander to the noises Fenris had made, the desperate grab of his hands, the movements of his body.He hummed softly, warm and satisfied, pulling Fenris’ body closer.

No matter how hard Dorian tried, the embarrassing warmth in his chest wouldn’t go away.

Fenris made a low, pleased noise against Dorian’s neck, finding his collarbone and giving it a soft nip.“I don’t want to ever stop touching you,” he breathed, shifting down the bed.

Dorian’s heart skipped.He trailed his fingers down Fenris’ arm.“ ... Will you be staying at Skyhold?” he murmured.

Fenris paused.He sighed against Dorian’s chest.“ ... I have not decided.Life here has been comfortable, and it feels good to have purpose behind my actions.But I don’t know if I can commit this much to someone else’s cause.I still have my own.”He pressed a kiss to Dorian’s chest.“I promise you this: wherever I am in Thedas, I will make certain you know how to find me.”

“Well, you’ll always know where to find me,” Dorian remarked.“Bored out of my mind in the Magisterium, dodging assassins and causing political outrage.”

Fenris chuckled.“To find you, I’ll just go where the trouble is thickest.”

“Mm, speaking of trouble... ” 

Dorian dragged Fenris up the bed, giving him first a languid kiss and then a hungry bite.He was rewarded with a moan.Smoothly, Dorian rolled over so that the elf was under him, finding the man’s lips and kissing him deeply.

“Mmmmh... ”Dorian broke the kiss with a smirk.“At some point, we should leave your room and mingle with the others.”

With a low growl, Fenris slid his hand down Dorian’s back to grab his ass, pulling his bare body close.“Not yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still one more chapter coming, to give you all a nice happy epilogue.


	20. Grassroots

_Two Years Later_

_\----_

Fenris could scarcely hear the thunder over the pounding rain.Water poured in thick streams from his sodden hair and dripped from the wet clothes of the cowering elf family behind him.The deluge washed slaver blood off of Fenris’ sword in between each brutal swing.

Another enemy crumpled lifelessly at his feet.Without missing a beat, Fenris spun and shoved off the blade of another foe with his own.He panted in the wet air, retreating towards the elf family with his blade drawn, facing down the remaining slavers.Thunder rumbled overhead, and the trees around them roared with the sound of thick raindrops splashing against thousands of leaves.

The slavers advanced slowly, stepping gingerly around the corpses of their fallen comrades.Fenris gave them a daring smirk, lowering his sword tip until it almost touched the leaf litter, inviting an attack.His breath was coming in short, even huffs and his heart was pounding, but he was far from tired, and his enemies could not match his experience with a blade.Spilling the blood of these monsters would be nothing short of a pleasure.

As long as there were slaves, there would be slavers.As long as impoverished families traveled alone, heartless mercenaries would try to make a few coins selling them to Tevinter’s elite.

And as long as slave traders pointed a blade at frightened families, Fenris would stand between them.

The mercenaries fell on him, and Fenris met their steel with his own, losing himself in the rhythm of battle.One by one, they fell before him. 

_There are five fewer slavers patrolling the Tevinter border now than there were this morning,_ Fenris thought with satisfaction.He slammed his blade against a man’s neck and twisted his body, drawing the full notched edge across the man’s throat.The mercenary collapsed with a wet gurgle, and Fenris grinned. _Six fewer slavers._

“M-messere!” one of the elves cried.“Behind you!”

Fenris spun to face his new challenger with a snarl, but before he could so much as raise his sword, the slaver’s armor exploded into flame.It crackled along leather and flesh, hot and heedless of the rain, staggering the slaver with a scream of agony.With one clean swing, Fenris took her head off, a wicked grin overtaking his face as he looked up.

A man stood in the shadow of the trees, his face obscured by a heavy black cloak.The man slowly lowered his extended hand, and the fires consuming the slaver’s corpse went out with a hiss.Two more charred corpses lay in the mud beside the bloody ones that Fenris had accounted for.

One of the elves let out a shrill cry.“Th-that’s a mage!” she squeaked.“That’s one of those awful Tevinter mages!”

“Mmm.”Still grinning, Fenris sheathed his sword, not taking his eyes off the man.His blood was still hot from the frenzy of battle, rain dripping from his smile.“Yes he is.Bad _bad_ mage.”He began to stride towards the hooded man, calling to the elves as he walked.“Keep heading south towards Orlais.”

“Wh-what about the mage?”

“I’ll take care of him.”

Fenris could hear the family scampering away, but he didn’t bother to turn.As he stepped close to the mage, the man lowered his hood and smiled.

“Should I be afraid?” Dorian joked as rain splashed on his face.

“Petrified,” Fenris shot back, sliding his hand around Dorian’s waist and pulling him close.“I’m going to do _terrible_ things to you.”

Dorian’s smirk did nothing to cool off Fenris’ racing heart.The man was still breathlessly handsome, even in simple black robes and a week’s worth of travel filth.Fenris brushed his fingertips reverently across Dorian’s cheek before dragging him into a kiss, moaning into it.The touch of his lover’s tongue made him shiver.With one more hungry nip, he pulled back to look Dorian in the eye.

“I trust your travel was safe?” Fenris asked.

“Safe and filthy as usual,” Dorian said with relish.He looped his thumbs into Fenris’ belt, pulling him closer.“This feels so naughty, you know.Slipping away from the Magisterium every few weeks to visit my blood-soaked elven lover in the wilderness.Such a _scandal_ it would be.”

“Heh.”Fenris brushed rain off of Dorian’s cheek.“And how goes the political nonsense?”

“Like a forest fire,” Dorian replied primly.“But progress is being made.The number of mysteriously vanishing slaves has gone down monumentally in the past few months.Worth the effort, I would say.”He leaned towards Fenris’ lips again, speaking softly.“Though I wish my work didn’t keep me away from you so much.”

Fenris closed his eyes with a moan of bliss as Dorian kissed him again.He pulled the man close, tilting his head, deepening the embrace.He had _missed this,_ missed the warmth of the man’s mouth, the hungry grab of his hands.

“It’s been too long since I had you,” he murmured into Dorian’s mouth.

“Mmmh... ”Dorian’s hand slipped neatly between Fenris’ legs, palming the hot bulge there.Fenris gasped into the kiss.

“I can tell,” Dorian breathed against his lips, his hand slowly _squeezing_.“You feel pent up _._ ”

Fenris let out a frustrated groan, his hips jerking into Dorian’s eager grip.The man’s hand was warm in the chill of the rain.“My camp is close,” he panted.

Dorian hummed as he nibbled Fenris’ lip.“And?”

Fenris growled and grabbed his lover’s ass possessively.“And I want you naked in my tent right now.”

“I want you _right here,_ ” Dorian snarled back.He grabbed Fenris’ hair, breathing into his ear, a low filthy whisper as his other hand slowly stroked.“Don’t tell me you’re going to let a dirty Tevinter mage escape without punishment -- ”

Fenris threw Dorian against the nearest tree before he could finish, pinning him against the rough bark and claiming his mouth. 

\----

_“In the years to come, some would call him a butcher and an extremist.  Others would call him the grandest reformer the Imperium ever saw.  But the great historians, the ones who did their research, could always agree on a few things.  He was a man of uncrushable faith in his homeland, unshakable determination to change the world, and absolute ruthlessness in his tactics.”_

_\- Prologue to Reform, a story by Viscount Varric Tethras, 9:46 Dragon_

As the campfire crackled, Dorian frowned at the book in his hands.“A ‘butcher and an extremist?’Where in Thedas are they saying such wretched things about me?”

Fenris chuckled, tending to the fire.The rain had stopped, a cool dusk falling over the land.The campfire and the heat of Dorian sitting beside him more than kept the chill at bay.

“I liked that part,” he teased.

Dorian waved the book in outrage.“Butcher and extremist!”

“Well, you did kill a few slavers in cold blood for the sake of research,” Fenris reminded him.“And as far as anyone knows, you killed Aurelian too, just because he disagreed with your bill.”

Dorian’s frown deepened. 

“Let’s not forget all the bribery and deception,” Fenris added, poking the campfire with a stick.

“Whose side are you _on_?”

“Does it hurt you that much to be viewed as ruthless?”

With a scowl, Dorian flipped the book open again.His eyes wandered the page, the neat ink words.“ ... Not if I make a difference,” he said at last.

“You are forgetting the other part.”Fenris scooted close to Dorian, sliding his hand over the man’s thigh.Even through the leather, he could feel the heat of firm muscle.“The part about your uncrushable faith and unshakeable determination.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes.“ ... Are you trying to dirty talk me with lines from Varric’s book?”

Fenris leaned close, whispering into Dorian’s neck.

“ _Grandest reformer the Imperium ever saw,”_ he breathed.

Dorian’s cheeks darkened in the flickering light of the campfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who came along for this wild ride, and thank you especially to the commenters. Your feedback and love kept us going. This story has been a work of passion for both me and Poppy, and as sad as we are to see things draw to a close, it's satisfying to give this tale a proper ending.
> 
> To those of you who can't get enough of Reform, we do have one more present for you: there will be one more "chapter" posted soon with concept art, comics, and a few story ideas that never made their way into the official version.
> 
> Please come talk to us anytime on wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com and amatuskadanvhenan.tumblr.com!
> 
> \- Wren


	21. Propaganda (Art and Extras)

The following is all of the concept art and extras that I (Wren) and Poppy created over the course of writing Reform, plus a few behind-the-scenes.

 

 

  


 

 

 

This is the earliest concept art for Reform, before we even wrote the first chapter.  We wanted to give Fenris a small design change, since he's a different man now than he was at the beginning of Dragon Age 2.  After discussing various options for his hair, we opted for having him shave off the sides.  The purpose of this haircut -- and his gold earrings -- is to flaunt his pointed ears.  As he runs around the Tevinter boarder killing slavers, Fenris wants everyone to know that he's an elf.  A free elf.

 

 

  


 

 

 

These were the designs for Fenris' two different slave outfits.  Yes, the white clothes are a little absurd.

 

 

  


 

 

 

Here it is, the early concept art for Aurelian, voted most punchable Magister in the Magisterium by 100% of elves named Fenris.

When we wrote the very first chapter, we didn't realize that Aurelian was going to be our big bad.  Very little detail was put into his description or character; he was just the host of the auction.  We grabbed a random Tevinter-sounding name for this insignificant, one-shot character: Florian.  When we realized how many conversations would be had between Dorian and Florian, we realized his name had to change.  And thank Andraste we changed it.  

Aurelian got a bit of a makeover at that point -- his suspiciously blood-colored robes, his annoying habit of drinking wine all the time, his red/gold color palette, his tendency to pin people in place with his gaze, almost as if he was controlling their bodies... ah, I love me some good foreshadowing.  Soon, Aurelian became loathsome enough to carry the finale.

There were a lot of changes over the course of this story.  At the very beginning, we weren't sure if Dorian would be successful in implementing change, or if he would leave the Magisterium a bloodbath and flee to Skyhold.  An early idea was to have half the Magisterium turn on Dorian after luring him into a soiree where only his enemies were in attendance, followed by a huge fight scene.  Thankfully, we worked out something a little more elegant, believable, and emotionally intense.

\----

  1. **Dorian:** That little trick, Cole, when you dip into someone's mind and take a drink?
  2. **Dorian:** Do you choose what you're looking for, or is it random?
  3. **Cole:** It has to be hurt, or a way to help the hurt. That's what calls me.
  4. **Cole:** Rilienus, skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles.
  5. **Cole:** He would have said yes.
  6. **Dorian:** I'll... thank you not to do that again, please.



This Dorian/Cole dialogue from DA:I is where me and Poppy got the name Rilienus from, and that's what we named the slave that Dorian fooled around with as a teenager.  You know, just in case you needed more pain in your life.

And speaking of pain...

 

 

  


 

 

 

This is a thumbnail for an image set concerning what would have happened if Dorian hadn't been able to combat Aurelian's blood magic.  Since the full image set contains blood and implied sexual badwrong, I won't post the full thing here.  Those who are curious can see the full thing at wrenslibraryarchive.tumblr.com/post/143595148404/horrifying-alternative-ending-for-my-da-fic#notes

 

 

  


 

 

 

This is a canon Fenris line from DA2 concerning mages.  It was nice to find some in-game confirmation that Fenris could grow to respect a mage if they showed restraint and strong morals.  It's all the more meaningful because Dorian's worst fear is temptation, and that's another element that we tried to play up whenever we could.

 

 

  


 

 

 

Originally, we toyed with the idea of Dorian being the bait when he and Fenris captured Almandrius in the second Rave Cave chapter.  He would have masqueraded as a "dancer," glowing bodypaint and all.  It almost would have been worth it to write Dorian in full honeypot mode... but in the end, it became too complicated from both a symbolic and logistical standpoint.  It was simpler to have Dorian approach Almandrius as a Magister seeking a slaver than to elaborately disguise himself, and it made no sense to flip Fenris and Dorian's roles at this point.  It was more meaningful to uncomfortably cement the roles they had.

As for the long hair... we went back and forth on what to do with Dorian's hair in this story, but never finalized anything, so in the end we decided to leave it ambiguous.

 

 

  


 

 

 

The awesome Ginogollum drew this fanart for us!  I love how much care went into the garden courtyard, especially that twisty dragon statue.

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

  


 

 

 

Me and Poppy have extensively discussed Fenris' similarity to a cat in this story.  Poppy created these brilliant drawings to showcase some of his more catlike behaviors.  My personal favorite is his habit of escaping the house when he's not supposed to, killing some wildlife, and bringing it back to Dorian as a gift.  (In our illustrations, we left out the whole "peeing and puking on everything he hates" bit, but it's an undeniable similarity.)

 

 

  


 

 

 

100% accurate recreation of the ransom note that was left in Fenris' bed, courtesy of Poppy.

 

 

  


 

 

 

100% accurate portraits of Aurelian, courtesy of me and Facebook.

And lastly...

Although it didn't make sense to include this in the story (it probably wouldn't take place until Fenris and Dorian had been together for a few years, if it happened at all) me and Poppy have had extensive conversations about the, ah... recreational possibilities of blood magic use.  Since you kids have been so good, here's a little snippet of magical kink that never made its way into the story:

\----

“I could feel you.  Every part of you.”  Dorian hated himself for the lustful hitch in his breath.  “Every drop of your blood was mine.  And Maker forgive me, I loved it.  Loved having you like that, having so much power.”

Fenris tilted Dorian’s chin up with his fingers, forcing the man to meet his eye.  “I could feel you too,” he murmured.

The words sent an unexpected jolt of pleasure up Dorian’s spine.  He swallowed.  “C-could you really?”

“You and Aurelian both.  But I could tell which one was you.”  Fenris leaned close to Dorian’s lips.  “When I felt you trying to control me, I gave youeverything.  I never tried to resist you.”

Dorian held back from diving onto the elf’s lips, biting his own tongue to steady himself.  “F-Fenris... I shouldn’t enjoy doing that to you.”

“Mmh.”  Fenris leaned close to Dorian’s ear.  “Perhaps I shouldn’t enjoy having it done to me.”

“F-Fenris... ”

“I trust you completely.”  Fenris nipped Dorian’s earlobe, hard enough to make Dorian gasp.  “If I threw you down on that bed, would you touch me with your magic like that?”

A strangled whimper slipped through Dorian’s teeth.

Fenris pulled back with a smirk, his eyes dark.  “You could make me fuck you as hard as you wanted -- ”

With a frustrated groan, Dorian grabbed Fenris’ hair and dragged him into a hungry kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Wren is at wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com  
> Poppy is at amatuskadanvhenan.tumblr.com  
> Come say hey!


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